


The Unknown Life of Maria Stark

by BrightneeBee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Inglourious Basterds (2009), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Graphic Violence, Loss of Virginity, Origin Story, Smut, Storytelling, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, conflicting emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/pseuds/BrightneeBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Maria Collins Carbonell, before she became Maria Stark. When she fought in WWII, shared a cell with Sergeant Bucky Barnes, survived loving Howard Stark, and fell for Captain America. RATED M! Relationship-dynamic triangles. UNDER-REVISEMENT/EDITING/BETA'ING (Restructuring to fix issues and fill plot holes!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in the Marvel-verse. I am merely doing this as a hobby and for my own personal pleasure and entertainment. Please don't sue me.
> 
> Author's Note: This series is going to span several different fandoms, as well as the Marvel-verse, so bear with me. I've been writing portions of each part of the series for months up to the ending. What has been posted so far has been edited for a more believable storyline, and to un-MarySue the main character, Maria Stark (nee Collins Carbonell). There is a method to this madness, so give it a chance before you write it off. **UNDER-REVISEMENT/EDITING/BETA'ING** (Really, I'm revising to write out the Mary-Sue-ness of the OFC foundation of Maria Stark completely, as well as restructure and fill plot holes)
> 
> Also, I've used some Grey's Anatomy quotes in dialogue as several inspired certain chapters. So, keep your eyes peeled and you might pick them out. ;)
> 
> Please, read and comment.

February 2013, New York

 

The town car slowed to a stop in the back alley of Stark Tower. Two agents were already waiting for her as the driver rushed around the car and opened the door. Stepping out, she thanked him and gave him instructions to take an early day, knowing what she had come to do would take all afternoon. Without a glance back, she began walking towards the agents standing at attention, two out of barely a handful who knew of her existence.

Agent Barton opened the door for her, waiting for her and Agent Romanov to enter before following behind them. He locked the door and fell in step with Agent Romanov as they followed their superior through the maze of corridors towards the back elevators of Stark Tower. Her heels clicked quick and sharp against the floors, her pace a breath away from a jog as she made haste.

Anyone could tell by a mere passing glance that this woman was in the midst of a bad mood. Jerking her Italian leather gloves in swift movements from her hands, she pursed her lips and steeled herself for the utter mess awaiting her in the top levels. The clash with Fury had been a long time coming. It was no surprise that Maria Stark was forced to leave her position behind the scenes to ride in and police the Avengers, and their constant bickering.

"Does the Director know of my arrival?" asked Maria, in a firm and clipped tone; her Chicago accent faint and unrecognizable after so much time had passed.

Agent Romanov answered, "No, ma'am, he's in the dark."

"Good," said Maria. "And do not call me 'ma'am,' it makes me feel old, Natasha. And we’re basically the same age."

"Yes, of course."

"Are the Avengers still bickering like play-yard children over a new toy?"

"Yes," replied Agent Barton, pressing the button for the elevator as they came to a stop in front of it. "Stark, Rogers and Thor, mostly. Banner has been keeping his head down; Agent M. M. Carter and Ms. Lewis have their earphones in to ignore them."

"Labs, then?" surmised Maria, keeping her oversized sunglasses on.

"No, conference room on Level Twelve."

"Wonderful," Maria muttered, folding her gloves and stuffing them into to her coat pocket.

As the elevator doors opened, she entered and stepped over to the command panel on the right, while Agents Barton and Romanov followed. They stood at attention towards the back as Maria pressed the button for Level 12. Quiet, and well aware of the gravity of the situation, Barton and Romanov shared a knowing look.

Maria Stark, according to the world, had been dead for the last twenty years. Not even her son knew she had survived the car crash that supposedly killed both of his parents. Only a select few in SHIELD and her old friend Peggy knew that she had survived. And no one but Peggy knew how Maria had survived. SHIELD just assumed Maria had been taking the annual Infinity Formula like the agents that were still working field assignments. The agents that had been with SHIELD since the 1960s. And no one questioned it.

No one knew that Maria was alive, or had known, except for Director Fury and Agents Barton, Coulson, and Romanov. Of course, Coulson was dead, and no one else wished to bring her fury down on them for letting any information about her slip. She had her hand in several secret organizations, and had been facilitating the truces between both sides of the mutant conflict, as well as the posthuman situation with the Company. No one knew how she managed to do all of that, and keep track of every single going-on in SHIELD. Or how she made time for everything else.

Those were secrets Maria would never tell.

As the elevator doors closed, Maria shrugged effortlessly out of her cream hued coat and handed it to Agent Romanov. She took her sunglasses off and hooked them onto the v-opening of her white blouse, moving a strand of her usually curly hair from her forehead. Her warm brown hair, straightened for the day, hung in silky layers down to her waist; silky, thanks to a lot of hair products to tame her usually unruly mane. Her makeup was minimal, leaving her as fresh faced as always; shimmery, skin-tone hued eyeshadow and mascara, and a soft hint of cherry-tint had been applied to her plump lips. Fresh faced. She didn't look a day over twenty-five, frozen in time forever it seemed.

"Are you certain this is the best course of action, Maria?" asked Agent Romanov.

Maria laughed, "Are you attempting to talk me out of ‘chewing out’ Fury, Natasha?"

"No, but this will affect Tony and the way the Avengers perceive Director Fury as a figure of authority," explained Romanov. "They may not respect the Director after you... chew him out."

"I will make sure he is given the respect he is due," said Maria as the elevator doors opened at Level 12. She stepped out and marched with grace down the hallway.

"POINTE BREAK DOESN'T NEED TO BE IN THE LABS!"

"STAND DOWN, STARK!"

"IT'S MY BUILDING, I GET A SAY! YOU ARE NOT MY BOSS! YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER! IF I SAY NO NORSE GODS ON STEROIDS ARE ALLOWED IN MY LABS, THEN NO STEROID GODS IN MY LABS! I DON'T TAKE ORDERS FROM ANY OF YOU! NOT IN MY OWN BUILDING!"

"MR. STARK, CALM YOURSELF!"

"Tony, please sit down!"

Maria stopped suddenly and looked back to her agents, "I take it they are in that conference room? Far, far away from the labs at the end of the hall, smart move, Agent Barton."

"PEPPER, JUST STAY OUT OF THIS!"

"Who all is in there?" asked Maria, looking back to the closed door at the end of the hallway.

"Director Fury, Tony, Captain Rogers, Dr. Banner, Darcy Lewis, Agent Maggie Carter and Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, Dr. Foster, and Thor," answered Agent Romanov. "Everyone else has been moved to the lower levels."

Maria was silent for a moment, tapping her finger against her lips before speaking, "Good call, Agents," she sighed, running her fingers through her straightened locks and tucking the large, ornate oval locket hanging between her breasts under her blouse with a sigh, "God, how did I become the school teacher on the playground? Don't answer that."

When Barton and Romanov remained silent, Maria sighed again, "The Avengers Initiative seemed like such a good idea at the time. And to think, I was going to extend an offer to Charles for his people to join."

"It's not Director Fury's fault, exactly," Agent Barton replied quietly. "There are quite a few... strong personalities in the Avengers that makes wrangling them incredibly difficult. Darcy Lewis has been the only person who has managed to calm everyone down when the situation gets this bad."

Maria looked incredulously at them both at this, "Then why was I called away from my meeting?!"

Agent Barton coughed and Romanov bit back a laugh before answering, "Agent Carter and she found the entire argument entertaining when everyone was moved to the conference room. Then they found it hilarious, until Director Fury made a comment to Lewis, and she refused to help diffuse. It's her form of punishment on us all."

Maria snorted before more of the screaming match echoed out into the hall. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and she shook her head. Steeling herself for the plethora of reactions residing on the other side of that conference room door. With practiced  grace, she threw her shoulders back, put on her most authoritative expression and ordered Agents Barton and Romanov to go ahead of her and keep the doors open.

Taking a deep breath, Maria waited and listened as Barton and Romanov opened the doors and entered.

"Oh no," she heard Fury groan over the continued shouts coming from the room.

With a smirk, Maria marched the rest of the way and into the chaos with a speech already in mind, "After careful consideration, and many a sleepless night, here is what I have decided: There is no such thing as a grown-up," doing something she normally avoided, she placed a bit of maternal influence into her next statement, "EVERYONE TAKE A SEAT!"

She yelled over the arguing individuals and slammed the doors behind her to silence those who hadn't noticed her presence yet. The loudness of her command still reverberated through the conference room, the glass walls to one side of the room vibrating still.

"We move on, we move out, we move away from our families and form our own, but the basic insecurities and fears and old wounds just grow with us. And-"

"Maria-" Fury started, but Maria merely increased her volume and spoke over him.

"And just when we think that life and circumstance have forced us to truly, once and for all, become an adult..."

She looked every single person in the room in the eye with a stern expression before continuing, "We get bigger and taller and older, but, for the most part -"

"Maria-"

She held up a finger at Fury, "I am not done speaking, Director. Do not interrupt me again, or I will put you in a timeout."

"Yes, Chief," he answered dejectedly.

"For the most part, we are all still a bunch of children running around a playground," she said firmly. "I have heard that it is possible to grow up. Of course, I have yet to meet anyone who has actually done it - yes, including you, Nicholas J. Fury!"

Taking a breath and motioning for Barton and Romanov to take a seat, Maria strolled over to Director Fury. She gave him a wilting stare as she spoke in a controlled tone, "I said for everyone to take a seat, Director. That included you, or do I need to repeat myself one more time?"

He glared but did as she said, and Maria whipped around when two distinct giggles disturbed the silence from the other end of the conference table. She folded her arms under her bust and glared at Darcy and Maggie until they noticed. It only took a few seconds before the earphones were pulled from their ears and both women looked thoroughly ashamed.

Clearing her throat, Maria clasped her hands in front of her for a brief moment before snapping her fingers and bumping her fists against each other.

"Now, I can understand the temptation to act like toddlers and fight over every little thing, just to be spiteful. Without parents to defy, we break the rules we make for ourselves. We throw tantrums when things do not go our way. We whisper secrets with our friends in the dark, and we look for comfort where we can find it. We hope," she paused to stop pacing and looked around the room again, "We hope against all logic and experience, like children. We never give up hope. And would anyone like to take a guess at what my hope was? Hmm?"

Several people shook their heads while the rest remained quiet. She took that as an invitation to pick someone to provide an answer, "Director Fury, would you like to take a guess?"

She placed her hands in the pockets of her high-waisted pants and waited for an answer. When Fury folded his arms and refused to look at her, she chose someone else, "Dr. Foster, can you reckon an idea?"

Jane Foster shook her head with wide, scared eyes.

"Dr. Banner, what do you think?" Maria turned her focus to the quiet scientist trying to make himself invisible. When he didn't answer, she called on Barton and Romanov.

"To not be forced to come out from the shadows to do the Director's job for him?" offered Barton, avoiding Fury's murderous glare.

"To not have to come in and play mother to everyone in this room?" added Romanov.

Maria's sarcasm was enthusiastic as she applauded the two agents, "Yes, well done! Bravo!" She clapped her hands together and strolled across the room slowly, "When the Avengers Initiative was given the green light, I gave Director Fury one," she turned to look down at Fury, "small instruction...Do you remember the exact words, Nicholas?"

He replied with a grunt, and she leaned down to meet his eye level, "I told you to control the kiddies, because if I had to come in to police your pet-project, it would not be pleasant. Don't be so petulant, Nicholas!"

"Not being petulant," he grumbled under his breath when she moved away from him, "Grown ass man... treat me like a damn child-"

"I can hear you, Director," she said blandly.

Tony snickered, drawing her attention to him. Resting her hands on the back of his chair and leaning down to breathe into his ear, "I’m still your mother, and I wouldn’t hesitate to bend you over my knee and spank you in front of your teammates, Anthony."

He gulped, turning pale quickly, which was impressive considering how pale he had been upon her entering the conference room.

Maria smirked behind his back and stood at the head of the conference table, "I am confident that you all know who I am. The fact that I am still alive has to remain a secret, as it has always remained a secret. There are reasons why I’ve stayed in the background. Reasons that I can’t possibly begin to explain, but I will try to answer any questions you all may have."

As she sat, several people exploded with questions. Tony had jumped up from his seat to stare and stammer, while Fury yelled his own indignation, and Agents Barton and Romanov just looked at her in surprise. Banner looked confused, Darcy and Maggie were conversing in hushed tones, and even Dr. Foster and Thor were whispering to each other and looking around confusedly. Steve Rogers just stared at his clasped hands resting on the table.

Pepper Potts remained quiet and attentive.

"Quiet!" shouted Maria, motioning for people to take their seats. "Tony, you’re my son. I believe you deserve to ask your questions first. So, ask away."

The corners of her lips quirked upwards and her expression melted into a warm, motherly smile as Tony asked, "How is this," he motioned emphatically with both hands in her direction, "even possible?! Is Dad still dead, or is that a lie, too? Oh, oh! Are you actually an alien pretending to my mother? Oh, what about -"

"I am most definitely your mother, Tony," answered Maria, giving him a stern look. "Regarding how I am still alive...I," she paused to control the touch of sadness welling up inside, "It's a long story. A very, very, very long story."

"Then tell it," countered Tony obstinately. "We have all damn day, Mom. So tell it!"

"Watch your tone, Stark," warned Captain Rogers from Maria's right. "Don't talk to your mother like that."

"I'm a grown man, Capsicle, and I believe I have the right to be a little angry about this," challenged Tony while everyone watched the exchange in silent intrigue. "And last time I checked, you have no authority over - oh, god. Oh, God," exclaimed Tony, looking at Maria in shock, "He knew?! HE KNEW AND I DIDN'T?!"

"Son, you need to apologize -" started Rogers until Maria cut him off.

"He's my son, Steve," Maria interjected quietly, "And he has every right to be pissed. I can handle it, I deserve it," she turned her focus back to her son, "Yes... Captain Rogers was aware that I was - am - still alive. I had wanted to be there when he woke up, but I was never told he had been found until after he had already awakened and been released,” she glared at Fury for a moment for emphasis, “Steve and I are very old friends...And the only people who knew I survived the accident are Fury, Barton, and Romanov...And Peggy-"

"Can someone tell me how my mother is still alive?" exclaimed Tony.

Maria sighed, "I'm not quite sure where to start, or where an explanation truly begins."

"Start from the beginning," offered Rogers. "Bucky said you told him once...that the day you met Erskine was the most important day of your life.”

"I did, didn’t I?” asked Maria, smiling sad and wistful at no one in particular. “You never know the biggest day of your life is going to be the biggest. The days you think are going to be the most important? They are never as big as you make them out to be in your mind. The regular days, the ones that start out normal; those are the days that end up being the ones that change your life forever...”

Maria paused, looking around at the faces sitting at the conference table. Each pair of eyes as attentive and intrigued as the next, all waiting for her to divulge and tell her story. They were more interested in the explanation behind her existence, and it was understandable. Everyone in the room was either a scientist of some sort or a being of intense curiosity; all highly intelligent people with the need to know every little detail.

She looked down at her hands grimly, “I guess, before I start with how I know Captain America...” She looked over at Captain Rogers, meeting his hard gaze with a sad and soft expression of her own before turning her attention back to everyone else, “I should start at the very beginning. No one has ever known the truth. I...I’ve spent my life weaving all these lies to protect myself and other people, that I almost forget sometimes who I really am.”

“And who are you?” asked Tony.

“The name on my original birth certificate is Maria Collins Carbonell, born February 14, 1920. Born in Chicago. My father worked for the Chicago Outfit,” answered Maria with a sad look about her features. “When I was nine, I worked jobs with some guys in the mob. I was really good at slipping in, cracking safes. And I was small enough to fit between bars, squeeze through openings. When my family was hard up for cash, I'd take a few collection jobs. Everyone knew if I came knocking on your door, you better have the money ready. Parents were drunks, father beat me to a pulp daily. I'd had enough, so I planned on splitting.

“I didn't know where I was going until Abraham Erskine knocked on my door,” said Maria softly, fondly. “My father made me answer the door, still bloody and bruised. Abraham said he'd been looking for me for a long time, and that he needed my help. Took a look at my face and told me to pack a bag. So, I did. He took me to New York, and I was...adopted. He and his wife called me Marie. Took me on excursions through Brooklyn and Queens, pushed me to be more than a thief. I didn't know people could be so nice.

"There's an old proverb that says, You can't choose your family," Maria smiled a bit, remembering the time Erskine had explained life to her. "You take what the Fates hand you. And like them or not, love them or not, understand them or not, you cope."

Shrugging, she continued, "Then there's the school of thought that says the family you're born into is simply a starting point. They feed you, clothe you, take care of you until you're ready to go out into the world...and find your tribe. Abraham and Rose were my real parents, I just didn't know. They will always be my parents. And everyone I've ever let in over the last...sixty something years...they will always be my tribe."

"Yeah, and what about me?" asked Tony, offended to not be mentioned. "What about Dad? Where do we fall in your little philosophical epiphanies?"

"You're my son," said Maria, reaching over to grasp Tony's hand. "I always put you first, and that'll never change. I made you from scratch."

"And Dad?"

Maria sighed, "He was my husband, your father...I haven't forgiven him for how he treated you, but I loved him, Tony. In some form or another, I will always love him. I don’t believe he understood how to interact with you. You were so intelligent, even as a small child. And we were raised in a very different era. I believe he was finding a balance, and he failed, but he loved you. Everything he built was for you."

"Can I ask how Tony Stark's mother looks younger than her son?" interjected Dr. Foster from down the conference table. "And how could anyone at this table know Captain America from before he was Captain America?"

"Genetic codes," Maria answered simply, giving her son's hand a squeeze before letting it go. "I was born this way, I heal instantaneously. Captain America's body regenerates four times faster than that of a normal human being. I'm the reason why. I could stab myself in the heart right now, and it would heal in less than a minute. I stopped aging when I was twenty-five. It's my genetics...It's my burden..."

Maria trailed off as she glanced over at a sour looking Steve. She remembered the day she first met him, down to the way he’d tied his shoes. She vaguely noticed Bucky that day, more focused on the fifteen year old that looked too small and too young for his actual age. She’d been intrigued by his kindness, when someone pushed her out of the way and she fell, skinning her knee. Bucky and Steve had helped her up, but she’d been so focused on Steve. How he and Bucky made sure she was okay before brushing past to make the boy that pushed her apologize. And then Erskine had whisked her away to get something to eat, and to make sure no one noticed that the bloody knee she had a few minutes before had healed without a scar. A trip to Coney Island was a special treat for her after the Doctor had taken her in when he found her father beating her senseless. She had waved over her shoulder at the boys as Erskine led her away.

“Do you remember the day I met you and Bucky?” Maria asked, propping her chin in a palm.

Steve was still angry at her, and it was understandable. To him, her words were still fresh, and to her it had been over sixty years since she had blamed him for Bucky’s death. Enough time had passed for her to realize how wrong she’d been, but Steve had only recently been found, thawed and awakened from an almost seventy year slumber. Setting that aside, it had taken him by surprise for her to come waltzing into his life almost a year following the Battle of New York. Yet, he had made room in his life for her, because he had no one else from his time. There had been another factor involved that had warmed Steve’s heart, but he was still working through whatever issues he had concerning her need for discretion from him. He couldn’t talk about her, couldn’t let people know he knew she was alive. He couldn’t say anything pertaining to her, for that matter. And now it was all for naught, because here she was blowing the need to secrecy to bits.  

“Come on, Steve. I know you remember. You were fifteen, I was thirteen. Coney Island...”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he nodded, “Some kid knocked you down and you scraped your knee.”

“You made sure I was okay before you and Bucky caught up to the boy to make him apologize to me,” added Maria with a small giggle. “I felt guilty that I knew who you were, and you both didn’t know my name until after Erskine died.”

“I still can’t believe I never recognized Erskine as the man leading you away that day,” Steve shook his head, a little less visibly angry than a few moments before. “You waved at us from over your shoulder. No one in Brooklyn knew who you were.”

“I didn’t have friends,” shrugged Maria, looking around at everyone else in the room. “Abraham enrolled me in school in Queens, but I never made an effort to befriend someone. People thought I was mute because I didn't speak outside of the apartment. And I stayed home a lot, to stay out of trouble. Studied whatever I could to help Abraham with his research. Mama Rose taught me French and German, how to play the piano...Singing lessons when she caught me humming while I was hanging up laundry. No time for friends, especially when I came from a home that didn't trust anyone.”

“I’m still confused on how you turned up as an Agent for the SSR and British Intelligence,” said Steve, giving her a pointed look. “There were no files on you. Not even a slip of paper with your name on it. I forgot to ask when we took Noa-”

“Actually, I was First Special Service Force," said Maria hurriedly and loud before Steve finished that statement, "and before that, an agent for the SOE. No one had papers on me, really."

“Colonel Phillips' idea,” finished Steve, nodding once as he realized she didn't want Noah's name thrown out for her to explain. He rerouted the subject instead, “Still doesn’t explain how you were a top operative during the war.”

“I had a very special set of skills,” replied Maria with an innocent smile. “There wasn’t a name that I knew of for people who could do what I was capable of. Today, we’re known as posthumans, but that’s among the posthumans. People with abilities that have a different genetic make-up from the mutants. Almost all posthumans manifest one singular ability, but besides myself, I’ve met one other who could collect abilities. Dr. Erskine caught me trying to learn how to control all the abilities I had unknowingly collected. Found me during his first trip to Chicago.”

“There is no such thing as people with abilities...” Tony trailed off as he looked around the room. “Okay, I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s a part of human evolution,” explained Maria, leaning back in her chair. “Thankfully, you weren’t born with my very specific genetic code. You inherited my good looks and intelligence, and your father’s arrogance.”

“Take that last part back,” exclaimed Tony, feigning shock and earning exasperated looks from everyone in the room. Throwing up his hands, Tony stood from his chair and paced for a bit, “Fine, don’t mind me. Just tell the story.”

“Oh, but the story hasn’t even begun,” laughed Maria, swivelling side to side in the chair as she pulled a hair-tie off her wrist and put her long locks up in a sloppy ponytail. “Abraham said he'd seen me blowing up bricks and freezing the shards in mid-air the day he was trying to find where I lived. He had some man visit him when he still lived in Europe, who told him there was a missing element to the formula and that I was the key."

“So, when do we get to how you ended up in World War II?” poised Tony, still pacing as he listened to his mother. Maria had never wanted him to know about her childhood, and that was where the arguments between her and Howard had stemmed. She had been exposed to parents who drank and beat her daily, and she had never wanted that for her son. She had shielded him as best she could, but as much of a force to be reckoned with as Maria was, Howard was an equal match. It was something she had fought with Howard over, but Tony had still been exposed to that kind of display of daily drinking. And he had still been exposed to Howard and Maria’s infamous screaming matches.

“Through SSR when the war started,” answered Maria, pushing her other thoughts away. “I was Erskine’s original assistant, before Colonel Phillips pulled in Howard Stark. A soldier had tried to grope me, and I broke a few ribs and the guy’s nose. Phillips had turned a corner and watched it happen. He said I had potential, and he had already taken a chance on Peggy Carter, so...He redacted my name from Erskine’s SSR reports and shipped me to England for more extensive and intensive training for a project in the works. I was enlisted as an Agent for the First Special Service Force under Marie Reinstein, but I was basically a ghost because I was just barely eighteen.”

“And then?” asked Darcy Lewis, on the edge of her seat.

Maria’s gaze softened when she looked at the young woman, eyes flitting over the girl’s features before she answered, “Peggy Carter trained me, and then Dum Dum Dugan. Gabe Jones taught me French and German, though Mama Rose had already started that process. I worked with someone else on my Italian. And then I was in one-on-one training with...this woman,” Maria lied, forcing herself not to look at Natasha, “No one knew her name, or cared to tell me. She was just there, trained me for months, and then she was gone. Everything to do with espionage, she drilled it into me until I was at her level. Or as close to it as I could possibly get.

“Then I was on assignments as a consultant for the British Armed Forces. A ghost for the SOE,” shrugged Maria, combing her brain to make sure she hadn’t left anything out so far. “I did many a questionable thing, but I never stooped to sleeping with a man for information. I played up my innocence as a flower shop girl in Paris, let the German Officers take me out for a moving picture, and a pastry after. If I played my cards right, they told me everything I wanted to know before the first kiss...

“I was also a contact person for a German spy to pass along information to the British higher ups,” added Maria. “She would come in with her usual entourage, pick out a bouquet, and I would take down the message and deliver it to different points around Paris. And then I was called out of field work for the SSR. Erskine was close to the perfected formula, and he wanted me there to evaluate the recruits. He was looking for someone specific and he wanted my opinion...

“So, I tied up loose ends and closed the flower shop until I returned,” shrugged Maria, glancing at Steve. “That’s when the story begins...”


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

****

June 1943, Flushing Meadows, NY

****

Maria could still smell the lavender and honeysuckle from the shop. Having not showered yet after three days of travelling, it was understandable the aroma would still linger. Of course, she thought the smell would fade, but looking down at the skirt of her pale blue dress, she saw a possible reason as to why she could still smell the lavender strongly. Petals were sticking to the fabric, and she had a sprig of honeysuckle poking out from under the black ribbon cinched around her waist. A small lavender blossom had tangled in the bow in the front, as well. Touching her dark brown hair, knotted and pinned about the base of her skull, she found little stems of baby’s breath and alyssum tangled in her unmanageable locks. And she already knew about the wild poppy blossom trapped in her plain, black heel. She could feel it squishing under the ball of her foot with every step.

****

There just hadn’t been enough time to do more than set up a free flower stall outside, lock the doors and put a note in the window. “On vacation,” was what the note said, though she doubted the Nazis would buy the excuse. She got the hell out of dodge, not because she was in trouble, but due to the fact that she was given orders to come home. Abraham had refused to move further in Project Rebirth until she was home with him and Rose. The Erskines, or the Reinsteins as everyone in Queens knew them. Her family. The only parents she ever acknowledged. It had been over two years since she had seen them, the people who rescued her. The people who took her in and showed her kindness when no one else bothered with a second glance her way.

****

Excited didn’t even begin to describe how she felt as the taxi pulled up outside of the Exposition boundaries. Of course, after a year and a half of intensive training, all anyone could see was a very confident woman with a playful smirk pulling at a corner of her lips. Getting out of the car, Maria paid the driver and tipped him well before she turned and started to push through the crowds of people coming and going. Pops was still working at the recruitment office tonight, since there would be more people walking through to see the advances in technology on the horizon. More people walking past the office, more possible candidates for the SSR project. She had decided to surprise him at work, instead of heading straight home to Queens. Her parents knew she was coming, just not when exactly. After the shop had been taken care of, and a new contact point set up in Maria’s absence, she had grabbed the first ticket out of Paris without sending word that she was on her way. It was an excuse to get Pops home before midnight.

****

The atmosphere was different than in Paris. She had forgotten how unaware Americans were to the suffering in Europe. She had never thought of it before until she had spent almost a year in the thick of Nazi-occupied France. The environment was intense, with everyone who wasn’t on Germany’s payroll on guard at all times. French Jews hiding in plain sight because they couldn’t get out of the country to neutral territory, or into the arms of Hitler’s enemies. Maria had spent a lot of time with a few families, helping them escape from under Hitler’s bloodhound’s nose. It was one of those life changing moments that alter a person’s perspective; saving innocent people from certain death. She wanted to tell her father all about the families she had helped, tell him what they were like and how they had helped her more than she had helped them.

****

Strutting through the crowds of people, Maria pulled a smoke purse from her sweater pocket, plucking a cigarette and her lighter without slowing her stride. The purse slide back into her pocket as she inhaled deeply, eyes locking onto a man as he maneuvered through the crowd with a friend in an Officer’s uniform. Her eyes flashed ice-gray as he watched her pass by, before they returned to their natural doe-eyed brown. He stopped and turned to watch her disappear behind a group of people pushing past. All that was left of her was a cloud of smoke dwindling away into the night air. The trails of smoke from her cigarette were the only sign that she had stopped and turned to watch the man look around for her and fail. She took another drag and looked over to where his friend was standing and waiting.

****

With a sigh, Maria exhaled the smoke and walked away. She was just a jump and a skip away from the recruitment office her father based his operations out of and she didn’t want to miss him. The sidewalks were packed with people, everyone looking out into the chaos of all the stages Stark Industries had set up. Technology on display for the World of Tomorrow. Flying cars and super hero suits encased in glass; enough for people to gawk at in between stops for pretzels and popcorn and drinks. In France, there were cafes with coffee and tea, pastries and bistro meals for Parisians and German soldiers stationed in the city. Fresh ingredients and hardly anything fried in lard with a crispy exterior. Bread was baked fresh daily across the street from her flower shop, the warm scents wafted through the open door to mingle with the perfume of flora. America was a country of different nationalities and excess, while the people of Europe suffered and starved and rationed what they could while they kept their heads down.

****

Her cigarette was finished by the time Maria neared the recruitment office. The huge sign with Uncle Sam pointing at the passersby, exclaiming, “We want YOU,” almost watching her as she went to walk through the open doors. Invisible to anyone gazing in her direction, she walked freely through the office as she looked for her adoptive father. She had learned to utilize the strange abilities she seemed to have accrued over the years, but not rely on them. They came in handy, but she didn’t use them more than what was needed to survive. No one but her father knew, and that was how she intended to keep it. Invisibility, instantaneous healing and regeneration, slowing and speeding atoms to freeze time and cause fiery explosions, creating fire and frost, and controlling both, creating illusions. No one should be able to do any such things, but she could do these things as easily as breathing. Genetic mutations, human evolution. Her father had found the literature for her, but nothing that could conclusively explain how she could do what she could. It didn’t matter much to her now, though. She kept her abilities hidden, and used the training she had been given to survive.

****

Finding a restroom in the back office of the recruitment building, Maria slipped in and locked the door. She spent some time undoing her haphazard bun and running her fingers through the tangled mess that was her hair. She pulled the bits of flora and little green leaves before smoothing down the flyaway strands, braiding and pinning her hair back into a cleaner looking bun. Wiping the petals from her dress, Maria checked herself in the mirror and left the restroom. She didn’t have to look for long after that until located her father.

****

Standing at an arced desk counter, shuffling through paperwork and files, Abraham Erskine stood. His hair had grown out a bit, turned white, and he looked older than she remembered. Maria snuck up behind him and tapped his shoulder, bouncing on her heels as he looked over his shoulder. He made to turn back to his files before whipping his head back for another look. His face lit up and he embraced her, the hug tight enough to crush the air from her lungs, but she didn’t mind. She welcomed the tightness and clung to her adoptive father until they were both ready to let go. It had been a long time since she last saw him.

****

“You are here!” exclaimed Abraham, kissing both her cheeks before she returned the greeting. “Have you been to see your mother, yet?”

****

Maria shook her head, “No, not yet. I wanted to surprise you. And make sure you left before midnight.” She hugged him again, burning the experience to memory, “I’ve missed you. I have so many things to tell you!”

****

“And I cannot wait to hear them,” said Abraham, kissing her forehead as his eyes took in her face. “You are so thin, Marie. Your mother will think you have been starving yourself.”

****

She shrugged, “I’ve been busy. I’ll tell you both all about it at home. Don’t know who could be listening in.”

****

“I have a few files to examine, and then I will escort you home,” he said, eyes betraying how tired he was as he smiled. “Howard is giving a demonstration. You should go say hello. I’ll only be a few more minutes.”

****

Maria narrowed her eyes, but smirked and nodded, “Alright, but if you’re one second late I’ll drag you out of here by your ear. I’ll be back in a minute.”

****

He saluted with a file and waved her off. Maria’s heels clicked against the floor as she walked through the front office space. By the entrance, she noticed the small man from earlier and ducked behind the doorway. She melted into the shadows, invisible again, as she listened to peeked around the pillar to watch. The short man stood on a metal square in front of a poster, setting off the light inside to show his face under the printed soldier’s helmet. He looked so sad, almost mournful.

****

“Come on,” said the little man’s friend, the Sergeant in uniform, as he strolled up from behind. “You’re kind of missing the point of a double date. We’re taking the girls dancing.”

****

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” replied the little man, his face now vaguely familiar the longer she looked at him. And his friend.

****

The Sergeant sighed, “You really gonna do this again?”

****

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

****

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you,” exclaimed the Sergeant.

****

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this...”

****

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war-”

****

“I know it’s a war. You don’t have to tell me,” said the little man, slightly defensive as his friend attempted to talk sense into him.

****

The Sergeant seemed a bit exasperated, “Well, why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.”

****

“What do you want me to do?” asked Steve. “Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”

****

“Yes! Why not?!” was the Sergeant’s reply.

****

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky. Bucky!” answered Steve a little more forcefully. The names finally clicked in her head as she watched from behind a pillar. Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes; fifteen at Coney Island, they made a kid apologize to her for knocking her down as he passed by. She wondered why she didn’t recognize them both before. “Come on. There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

****

“Right,” said Bucky the Sergeant, disbelieving. “‘Cause you got nothing to prove...”

****

One of the girls with the Sergeant hollered out something, and Maria hurried quietly over to her father, who she noticed had been eavesdropping as well. Invisible, she bumped his arm and stayed close to him as she listened to the two men say their goodbyes and part. Maria followed her father as he slyly turned and walked towards an exam curtain.

****

“Give him a chance,” said Maria as they stepped behind a curtain into an empty exam station. She appeared like a magic trick, seated on the exam table with a serious look about her face, “He’s the one, Pops. He’s the best choice.”

****

“If something that we didn’t know we had disappears, do we miss it?” asked Abraham in reply.

****

Maria shook her head and rolled her eyes, “Not the philosophical road again.”

****

Abraham’s eyes twinkled as he peeked through the curtains before saying anything else, “You should not use that gift so freely, Marie. Someone will catch you if you are not careful.” He pulled the curtain back and motioned for her to be on her way, “Go. Say hello to Howard. He has been asking about you.”

****

Maria rolled her eyes again and smiled, hopping down from the table, “Give him a chance, Pops. That little guy is the one you’ve been looking for.” She raised up on her tiptoes and pecked her father’s cheek, “Twenty minutes, or I’m dragging you out of here kicking and screaming.”

****

“Oh, a few minutes ago it was by my ear,” chuckled Abraham, guiding her out into the main office. “I will see what I can do after I speak with him.”

****

Maria smiled brightly and strolled out of the recruitment office, journeying out into the crowds. She had a few dollars in her smoke purse and she hadn’t eaten since the morning she closed up the shop in Paris. Of course, her mother would have dinner waiting for Pops when they arrived home. He always called before he left work for the night, so Ma knew when to expect him. Maria knew he’d keep her arrival a secret, because she wanted to surprise her mother just as she had surprised him. So, stopping for food was out of the question. It seemed like she should just man up and slip past security to pay Howard a visit.

****

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Howard Stark. He was intelligent and extremely successful for someone his age. He was funny and the few conversations she had with him before she had left for training in England had been quite titillating. Of course, his eyes constantly wandering towards any woman that passed by was slightly irritating. It didn’t bother her as much as it most likely bothered other women, mainly because Maria was so preoccupied with Project Rebirth, and then she had been gone for two years. Although, thinking back, Maria realized she had never been interested in any man, ever. She’d never noticed boys in school, except for Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, and that had been for entirely different reasons. No, she had been an intimidating nine year old in Chicago, collecting debts for the Italians running Southside. And then she’d kept quiet with her nose in books when the Erskines took her in and adopted her into their family. She was being taught languages and science and a plethora of other subjects, because Abraham and Rose wanted her to succeed at things, better her life. They did not want her to be another pair of hands for organized crime. She owed them so much, and so she kept her eyes from wandering to boys and bothering with romance.

****

Now that she was a woman, Maria wondered if maybe she should have dabbled with romance and boys as a schoolgirl. Then again, no man would be worth accepting a date if she didn’t notice them first. And so far, she’d never met a man that caught her eye and made her look. The only reason she accepted dates from Nazis was due to the fact that it was her job. She trafficked information, how else was she going to get it? Flirt, laugh, let her arm brush against the soldier’s chest, and they would be wound up enough to tell her whatever she wanted to know. She always ended the date with a soft brush of her lips against theirs, a thin layer of sedative coating the rouge on her lips just the right dose to drug the soldier on his way home. They never remembered the date the next day.

****

The security detail watching the crowd didn’t even notice Maria as she slipped past to the backstage area. She didn’t bother to stop and watch Howard on the stage going on about taking a stroll through the world of tomorrow to see the wonders of technology on the horizon. She graced through the small area behind the stage, dodging the women as they hurried about touching up their makeup and perking their breasts in those ridiculous outfits. No one noticed her as she walked around the parked car, so ostentatious that she didn’t even need to know Howard Stark to be able to tell that it belonged to him. A brand new Rolls-Royce in a shiny silver paint, the exact opposite of what he drove off in the last time she’d seen him. What had it been? A polished, red Ford pick-up? Fully restored from it’s 1930s, rusted glory. The previous owner had not been kind to it, but as Howard started it up and drove away, a person would never have been able to tell.

****

This Rolls-Royce though, it was straight from the factory to Stark’s front door. He must have had a breakthrough with something to treat himself to something this luxurious. She almost felt guilty perching on the hood, but just almost. Pulling the smoke purse from her sweater pocket, she lit another cigarette and inhaled as she crossed her legs and propped an elbow on her knee. The smoke purse was slipped back into her sweater pocket, and she exhaled a cloud as she waited for Howard to take an early leave. She relaxed and let her mind wander as she waited, invisible, while her eyes watched for any sign of Howard.

****

The time on her wrist watch told her six minutes had already passed. It was nearing nine ‘o’clock and she wanted a hot meal and a bath. It had been a long three days. She may smell like flowers, but she felt like she’d been dunked in a vat of oil. Her hair was a tangled, greasy mess. Her skin felt slick. And she imagined she looked harried and rushed, but that was how she left France. Harried and rushed. It was the excitement of seeing her parents and getting away for a bit while Hitler’s bloodhound was sniffing around her shop that caused her to close up the little store in as quick a time as humanly possible. As fast as humanly possible without the Nazis noticing.

****

Eight minutes passed, and still no sign of Howard. She could hear him talking still from his little stage. It sounded as though he was wrapping it up for the night, though. At least, she hoped that was what he was doing. After twenty minutes she would be slipping away to meet her father outside of the recruitment office. She wasn’t going to keep her father waiting because Howard Stark was “working.” Of course, while she waited, Maria took another drag from her cigarette and held it for a long while before exhaling a steady stream of smoke. There wasn’t much else to do, and she was plum out of thoughts to occupy her mind. None that she wanted to spend the remaining twelve minutes mulling, anyway. She had a lot of things to worry about, but nothing that worrying would solve. Things in France that were left open-ended, she had to let nature take its course. A project the British Armed Forces and U.S. military were cooking up for her to lend services to, that would happen in due time as well. Certain events on the horizon for the German High Command, well...Maria could only collect the information and pass it along without the Nazis finding her out. These things, she couldn’t bother herself by worrying about them. Everything would happen when it was meant to happen. There was nothing else she could do but wait.

****

Another drag on her cigarette, Maria held it same as the drag before, and watched as Howard came into view. She exhaled and flicked the end to the ground a foot away from Howard’s shined and polished shoes. He caught sight of the smoke rising and snuffed the cigarette on the sidewalk, looking around before crouching to pick up the butt. Maria was visible by the time he stood up and started to look around again. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she propped her chin in the palm of her hand.

****

“Oh, Marie! I knew you couldn’t stay away,” joked Howard as he tossed the smushed cigarette out into the street. He spread his arms open as she slid off the hood and embraced him, “Abraham said you weren’t due until the end of the week!”

****

Maria answered by squeezing him tightly, still not comfortable talking in front of or to him. It had always been like that, because she didn’t trust him as much as she did the Erskines, yet. Maybe one day, but for now her voice was lost. It wasn’t anything to do with Howard, just a quirk she’d developed as a child. It had taken three months before she spoke to Abraham and Rose after they’d taken her in. And she had never spoken to her biological parents, which was why everyone in Chicago that knew her thought she was a mute. It was just one of those funny things about her; like how she didn’t like things behind handed to her, or the fact that she only ever danced like no one was watching.

****

Howard squeezed her back before letting go and taking a step back, smirking, “One day I’m going to get you to tell me how you appear out of thin air. Come on, I’ll escort you to your father. He told you to come say hello, didn’t he?”

****

Maria nodded, looping her arm through his offered one and letting him guide her past security. The crowds were thinning out since Howard was done for the night, wandering off towards concession stands for snacks before heading home. Howard chatted her ear off as they strolled down the sidewalk towards the recruitment office, amidst heated glares from the women who watched Maria pass by on Howard Stark’s arm. Maria smile and nodded, interacting silently as she ignored the stares she was getting from the single women who were stuck with their less desirable dates. She wasn’t worried about it, since Howard Stark was a notorious Casanova and she wasn’t interested, really. He delivered her to her father outside of the recruitment office just as said father was exiting the building, briefcase in hand.

****

Abraham and Howard shook hands as Maria was handed off with a kiss to the back of her hand and a wink. Maria looped her arm through her father’s and they strolled towards Perimeter Road. The walk to Queens would take just over an hour, but it would give them time to discuss the less desirable aspects of her work in France before arriving home. Maria told him about keeping tabs on Johann Schmidt’s movements through Europe, including a “top secret” excursion into Norway no one could explain. She described the Jewish families she had helped smuggle to Switzerland and England, and the grown orphans who were too afraid to leave that she was hiding in plain sight. Maria went on about Hitler’s bloodhound and how she had been dodging him for months, and the Nazis she had accepted dates with for information. When he asked if she had been given orders to kill yet, Maria’s smile fell and she nodded quietly. It was better than confirming it verbally. And when he asked if taking lives had affected her in any way, she felt empty inside when she shook her head and told him that she didn’t even have bad dreams.

****

He dropped the subject and changed topics to the recruits for Project Rebirth...

 


	3. Chapter Two

 

**CHAPTER TWO**

 

_June 1943, New York_

 

“What the hell is this?” demanded Colonel Chester Phillips of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. He lifted the mandate Maria had pushed across his desk, scowled and tossed it back towards her with a look of disgust. “Patton is a pain in my ass,” he muttered, glaring at her. “The answer is no. I’m not going to let you just waltz in and disrupt basic training, Agent.”

Attempting to persuade Colonel Phillips into allowing her access to Project Rebirth’s prime candidates was proving quite difficult. Especially when she refused to speak to Colonel Phillips, or even in his presence. It hadn’t been this hard when she was silently convincing Stark to let her borrow his Rolls-Royce, instead of taking a cab, on a trip to Boston for reasons she wasn’t yet willing to divulge. The conflict over Maria sitting down with Rogers was beyond ridiculous. The opposition from Phillips was becoming just a hurdle that she would have to jump over, which always seemed to be the case these days. Phillips didn’t trust her, and he made no pretense of pretending otherwise. Which was why she had obtained the five page mandate from the Colonel’s superior, Patton, specifying what she was there to do, in the hopes that Phillips would comply. It seemed that even orders from on high to let her do her job wasn’t going to cut it when it came to Phillips. The exact answer to her question when she first posed it to her father individually had been, The Colonel would rather not have him doubt the program. Which, underlying meaning and all that, meant Phillips was afraid she would intimidate the recruits. Or give the impression that Project Rebirth was not what it appeared to be. Which wasn’t the case at all.

Steve Rogers was the case.

No, Maria simply wanted to sit across from the man who once stood up for her to a complete stranger because she had been shoved. She wanted to make sure he was the only choice for the procedure. Why pull her from the work she was doing in Paris if Phillips wasn’t going to allow her to do anything? Of course she would want to be present to see Abraham, her father, achieve his dream, but sitting on the sidelines to watch seemed superfluous when she had been told she was needed. They couldn’t just dangle the worm in front of her and expect her not to bite. She was brought back from Europe to help evaluate the candidates. They should let her do it.  

With a firm stare, Maria righted the document giving Phillips his orders and shoved it back to him. She even made a point of tapping her finger on it to prove her point. They were his orders, he needed to obey his superiors.

“My answer is still, ‘no.’” Colonel Phillips said, hardening his glare. “Maybe I’ll reconsider my opposition if you asked, instead of going over my head to get what you want, _Agent_ Reinstein.”

That was his challenge every time she went over his head for something. The man was just so unreasonable, Maria hated typing up requests for anything to submit to him personally. It was why she enjoyed her work in Paris so much. No Phillips to answer to, just a flower shop and her informants, and the people she dropped the information off with discreetly. It was an entirely different ballgame than in the base camps in Italy. Under British SOE directives, Maria was able to move freely because they could not police her as much as Phillips obviously enjoyed to do. Not without arousing the suspicions of the Germans occupying France. Especially since Paris was swarming with Nazi officers, and the Gestapo. It was too dangerous to the end result.

Colonel Phillips, she was aware of this, was only denying her permission to stroll through basic training because he didn’t like how Maria dealt with rules and protocol. He challenged her, because he wanted an upper hand. He wanted her to admit that he was above her in the chain of command, and he wanted to beat her at the political ring of bureaucratic games that had to be played in order to get anywhere. It was because he hated how she could maneuver and manipulate people into understanding what she needed without speaking. It was because she only spoke to a select few, and had never spoken a word in front of Colonel Phillips. Or to him. It was his way of saying he was sick of her big doe eyes batting at a person and getting to walk away without asking for something. He didn’t understand it was just a quirk, that she did it to almost everyone. If she didn’t like a person, or trust a person, she just couldn’t speak; it was a comfort thing, her muteness. The Nazis in Paris, they all knew about the mute girl who ran the flower shop near the cafe with the best strudel in the city. All she had to do to communicate with someone was a light touch and the answer just came to them, as if they thought of it themselves. It wasn’t control, it was just her way of relating what she needed without trying to verbalize it. If she couldn’t find her voice, it meant something.

In this case, being so frustrated, Maria found her voice. And it was strong, firm, and cutting.

“You are such a sourpuss,” she hissed, pushing the Colonel’s orders into his lap with one finger. Maria raised an eyebrow, challenging him as she continued, “I’m going to walk the camp, and do as I please...and do you know why, Colonel?”

Phillips looked amused, but his glare still held firm. She could see the corner of his lips quirking before she continued, and then she watched it fall into a deep frown. It made her extremely giddy, on the inside, knowing how much she got under his skin.

“And what would that be?”

“Because General Patton says I can,” Maria smirked, allowing her eyes to sparkle with victory.

The Colonel seemed a bit offended, but Maria had never cowered when faced with Phillips’s temper. He didn’t frighten whatever feminine and fragile sensibilities she was supposed to have, being a woman and all. She was aware that the way she behaved, what she did behind confidential, classified documents, unnerved Colonel Phillips, but it wasn’t her business to put his mind at ease when it came to her characteristics. He was the one who witnessed Maria clocking the soldier who groped her, back when she was just Erskine’s assistant. He had been the one to recommend her for Agent status, like Peggy Carter. Maria thought that, maybe, Phillips hadn’t realized she would be given free reign wherever she went. The lovely advantage of being a special operative for two different countries and their militaries, was that there were no papers on Maria whatsoever. She was above corporal punishment, because she didn’t exist. The things she did for the U.S.A. and Great Britain, when she wasn’t playing flower shop, were so egregious that no country wanted a possible trail back to them. She wasn’t like the others in the SOE, no one wanted their names attached to her work. That was the reason behind code naming her, “the Italian.”

“My answer is still no,” said Phillips, obviously pouting now. “I’ll have my Lieutenants escort you off these premises, Agent. You are not setting a toe on my army base.”

“I’ll do as I please, because I’m here for a reason, Colonel,” Maria refused to back down. “This is Dr. Erskine’s project. You just found the funding, so you could have your precious army of super soldiers. So stop pretending you know what is in the best interest of Project Rebirth, or who is the best choice for the procedure, and let Abraham and I do our jobs.”

Maria’s eyes flashed, for just a split second, from dark brown - almost black - to a fiery gold, before returning to their normal, lifeless color, “And I dare you to send your Lieutenants to drag me out of here...I’ll have a report typed and on your desk by tomorrow morning, Colonel. Good day.”

Maria simply looked to her father for a moment before returning her gaze to Phillips with the same fire in her eyes as before. He wasn’t understanding the reasoning she was giving. Phillips didn’t understand how the basis of human nature worked, because he was used to obedient soldiers taking his orders. He hadn’t closely watched human interactions, or talked with Abraham at length on the subject as a post-dessert conversation topic. Phillips was incredibly blind to the fact that people of all walks of life like to think that they are rational beings. Humane. Conscientious. Civilized. Thoughtful. That when things fall apart, even just a little, it becomes clear. People are no better than animals. Humans have opposable thumbs, they think, walk erect, speak, and dream, but deep down they are all rooting around in the primordial ooze. Biting, clawing, scratching out an existence in the cold, dark world like the rest of the tree toads and sloths. Phillips was aware that there is a little animal in everyone, all human beings. He just didn’t realize that it was something to celebrate. Animal instinct is what makes people seek comfort, warmth, a pack to run with. They may feel caged, trapped, but still, as humans, they can find ways to feel free. Everyone is each other’s keepers, and all that nonsense. People are the guardians of their own humanity. And even though there is a beast inside every living person, what sets human beings apart from the animals is that they can think, feel, dream, and love. And against all odds, against all instinct, people eventually evolve.

Of course, Maria was a bit spiteful. She might have evolved on a genetic level, but she hadn’t evolved on a human level. She still purposely sent the stacks of papers on his desk toppling over to the floor, on accident, of course. Clumsy mistake, and all that, as she turned to leave behind her father. Who, by the way, did not look at all amused at her pettiness.

No Lieutenants under Colonel Phillips’s command stopped Maria as she followed Abraham out of the main office building on the army base. Nor did anyone stop her from strolling between the barracks to the main area where most of the recruits’ training took place. They just watched her passed by. No one said a word.

Before she took that stroll, though, she had parted ways with her father. Promising to be home after the day was done, Maria smoothed any wrinkles from her dress uniform and waved her father off with a smile. He was the only person who had faith in her abilities. He trusted her judgment enough to speak with Steve Rogers himself, and he had seen how obvious the choice was when it came down to who would make the best soldier for the procedure. He knew she was observant, more so than most normal human beings. And he knew that she had a far deeper reason for watching Rogers and the other recruits. He didn’t ask the why, he just accepted her methods. Just as she never questioned his in regards to the serum, or the procedure. They each understood each other’s specialties, with mutual respect. More than she could say for her biological parents, who never respected anyone or anything.

It was sunny morning, and far too hot to be wearing a uniform jacket. If Maria could get away with chucking the entire uniform altogether, she would, but no one was going to allow her to traipse about in civilian clothing. The uniform, with it’s dark green jacket, starch white blouse and thick material skirt - and ridiculous heels that sank into the ground - was a protocol Maria just couldn’t overlook today. Even the annoying tie. She hadn’t applied any makeup, though. Of course, she never really did. Too much hassle, and never enough time to do it properly. Which, probably, was a lie she told herself so she didn’t have to do it. She had the time, but she just never wanted to try and make herself look above average. She had combed her wild, frizzy curls and pinned them in a respectable style, and that was about as much as anyone was going to get from her when it came to her appearance. Plain meant no one looked twice. And she liked being the girl unnoticed.

There were two new batches of recruits in formation in separate parts of the field, right in the center of the army base. Two new batches to choose from, but Maria spotted Rogers in line with Phillips’s prime candidate, Hodge, and decided she would watch them last. The other formation was farther away, and it looked as though Peggy was already addressing Rogers’ group. Phillips would be showing up soon, Maria just knew. Best to keep her distance until his mood was less sour.

Besides, wasn’t it always better to save the best for last?

The batch of recruits she chose to observe first held one or two promising soldiers, from what she could see from a distance. As she neared, Maria recognized a face from the Queens neighborhood her parents resided. She walked to the soldier’s family delicatessen and bakery every morning with her father, when she was home. They always bought two kosher bagels for breakfast. And Maria listened to Mr. Utivich’s wife try to convince Abraham that her son, Smithson, would make a good husband for his daughter, and vice versa. She was even willing to overlook the fact that the Reinsteins weren’t actually Jewish. If Mrs. Utivich knew what Maria did these days, she wouldn’t offer up her son as a groom so willingly. In fact, Mrs. Utivich would probably ban Maria and her father from their establishment indefinitely. Of course, what Maria did in the name of country wasn’t something anyone would be willing to divulge to the obnoxious woman. Maria always just remained quiet and perused the pastry displays, as she watched Smithson blush profusely from behind the counter without him noticing.

Smithson was a small fellow, much like Steve Rogers, but entirely the opposite when it came to everything else. His personality was more outspoken, except when it came to his mother. No Jewish son ever argued with his mother. Probably because Jewish women were exceptionally gifted at winning debates. Of course, back to Smithson. He was a little man, still, from Maria had seen of the pictures on the walls from the last few years she had been elsewhere. Other than that, he wasn’t much like Rogers, at all. He wasn’t a bully, but he’d never allowed himself to be a victim. He had a few friends, but mainly kept to himself. She guessed he could be considered handsome. He was nice enough, somewhat shy around girls, and witty. Maria used to eavesdrop on him and his friends the few times she had waited outside for her father to purchase the bagels. That was before her training, when she was just an assistant in the lab. Smithsons remarks, always quick-witted and swift, had made her giggle on occasion, but that was about it. They both kept mainly to themselves when they were out by themselves, and Maria was far too busy to worry about a husband. She didn’t even know if she wanted to get married one day. She was young, she had time to decide. Or be swept off her feet and the decision would be obvious. Either way, not right now.

Maria watched Utivich and the rest of the recruits in Group Two - that’s what she decided to call the nameless soldiers - going through drills. Smithson was the shortest, but he definitely had more stamina than the taller men with more muscle weighing them down. She had a pen and a small stack of thin files, each file with a sheet of paper clipped inside for her to take notes on, firmly held in the crook of one arm. The pen was tucked behind her ear. When she was closer to Group Two, Maria perched herself on the hood of the military vehicle the Drill Sergeant and company had arrived in, uncapped her pen and shuffled through the files until she found Utivich’s name. She hadn’t noticed it in the pile when her father had pulled out a mixture of his and Phillips’s choices, but at least he was in the stack. Twenty thin files, and Utivich’s was close to the bottom. Of course, as she observed him in the group of ten men, he moved up to the top of the stack.

The notes were taken down in shorthand, her script fast-paced and somewhat looped, but legible enough be considered somewhat elegant. Maria started with Utivich, of course, as she waited for the Drill Sergeant to acknowledge her. The recruits already had, but they kept their eyes from glancing in her direction as much as possible as they were put through the routine. Jumping jacks, push ups, and so on before the mid-afternoon miles were to be run. She made sure to pay close attention to how the recruits obeyed Drill Sergeant Timmons, and their reactions to his shouting, the orders he gave. She watched their facial expressions, filing away their tells of exhaustion or winces of pain until she had names to attach to her mental notes.

Sergeant Timmons was one of Maria’s most liked officers on the army base. They had met four years ago when Project Rebirth was in its infancy, with Colonel Phillips groveling for the funding. Her father had given her a tour of the base while the location for a lab was still being looked into. Timmons had been polite and charming, very kind. And when the soldiers weren’t around, he was delightfully hilarious. It was the first time Maria had laughed in front of someone she had just met. She had no problem at all speaking to him. He was a very nice man, with a wife and two sons, of whom he enjoyed regaling Maria stories of. He always had a smile for her, and she suspected he secretly enjoyed her tenacity when it regarded how she always, purposely, rubbed Phillips the wrong way.

Thirty minutes passed before Sergeant Timmons called the recruits into a line. There was utter silence from them while Timmons walked over to Maria, smile on his face since his back was turned to the men. Maria returned the smile and slid off the hood of the vehicle, closing the file in her hands and capping the pen. She put the file on the top of the stack and lifted them easily, holding them in one arm as she saluted the Sergeant.

“Agent Reinstein,” greeted Timmons as he released her from the salute. He reached out and shook her hand gently, schooling his face into something less friendly now that the recruits could see both their faces. “Colonel Phillips warned me you’d be observing today. Welcome back to American soil.”

Maria dipped her head in acknowledgement, speaking softly so only he could hear, “I’m just taking notes for the project, Sergeant. Do you mind calling out each recruit so I can put a face to each file? These yet to have photographs attached to them.”

“Anything to help,” said Sergeant Timmons, guiding her up to the line of soldiers. His face had returned to its usual scowl before they stopped a few feet in front of the line up. Maria left her features blank and emotionless, as per her usual expression, as she looked from face to face. Timmons addressed the recruits with his normal berating tone, “Soldiers! This is Agent Reinstein and she will be evaluating you all this afternoon! You will show her the same respect you show me! When she stops in front of you, you are to step forward and give your name! Do you understand?!”

“SIR, YES, SIR!” shouted the recruits in unison.

Timmons took the stack of files and shuffled through them to pull out his group of ten recruits, while Maria eyed the recruits with her perfected blank, emotionless expression. They watched her as she did so, and she was certain that they caught how her face flickered in recognition when she met PFC. Utivich’s gaze. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just as her’s did, in a soft smirk before she moved on to the next soldier in line. She was sizing them up before she walked the line, because she only had a few moments until the afternoon run through. She was almost certain that Colonel Phillips would be arriving in the next few minutes to address these recruits, but she wouldn’t be disappearing until the end of the training day. Her parents were already aware of that fact, and Colonel Phillips’s aggravation of her presence was too good to pass on. She could make herself scarce, but then that would only impede her evaluations. And she was nothing but thorough when it came to evaluating people.

It only took Sergeant Timmons a minute to find his group of recruits in the stack of files. It didn’t seem like time had passed at all when he handed Maria the files of his group of recruits. She looked at the names and uncapped her pen, poising it between two fingers as she showed Sergeant Timmons the name of the first file in the stack. And so started her afternoon. Timmons would call out the name she showed him, the recruit would step forward and salute, and Maria would hastily take down the notes she had filed away on each soldier. Now that she had names to go with faces, the process would be much more easy. And Maria made quick work of matching names to faces, jotting down quick notes before the next recruit was called forward. It only took ten minutes out of their day. Ten minutes they would be making up for later, but a necessity nevertheless.

When Maria was done, she had turned to Timmons to take back the rest of her files when a recruit spoke against orders to remain at ease.

“Why don’t you address us, little lady?” asked a soldier. Elijah Schwartz, if Maria remembered correctly. And she always remembered correctly. She looked over at him with a curious expression, at which he continued. “Pretty little thing like youse’s gotta have a pretty little voice. What do you think, fellas? She gotta pretty little voice to go with those pretty lips?”

A few of the soldiers chuckled, most remained silent and void of any tells as Maria focused on Schwartz. Private Utivich had a look of disgust etching into the corners of his eyes, which intrigued her, but not enough to pull away from teaching Private Schwartz a lesson. She was a lot like Peggy Carter, in the sense that she never let a man forget she wasn’t to be trifled with. And being a woman who could kill without blinking her eye in hesitation, Maria was far more deadly than Peggy. If Peggy were to deal with Schwartz at this moment she would probably have him move forward, put a leg out and then knock him to the ground in one swing. Maria was far more certain she couldn’t harm his face with one punch. She was too petite, not strong enough like Peggy. She tended to use leverage and momentum to take down tall men like Schwartz.

This was going to be fun.

Maria found her voice quickly, firm and authoritative as she handed Sergeant Timmons her things, “Step forward, Private.”

Schwartz smirked and stepped forward, “Youse gonna reprimand me, Princess?”

Maria stopped a few yards away from him, rolling the length of her skirt up to mid-thigh as she kicked off her heels. With her toes, she crossed an X into the dirt, marking the spot he would land with a brief smirk. She tossed Sergeant Timmons her little uniform hat, and returned her gaze to Schwartz, stone cold and still so expressionless she must look like a porcelain doll. Blank and unresponsive as she waited for another smart-mouthed comment from the Private.

He didn’t disappoint.

“Oh, fellas,” he said, chuckling as he looked back to his fellow recruits. “I think I’m gonna enjoy this.”

Before he could turn his head back around, Maria had launched into a sprint and lunged into a flip. Her legs wrapped around his head and brought him with her as the inertia carried them both. She turned in mid-air, Schwartz’s body following with her until she released him and sent him flying. She landed on her feet, perfectly balanced, and he landed on his back in the exact spot she had marked in the dirt.

Without sparing a glance at anyone, Maria smoothed her uniform jacket and rolled down her skirt hem as if it were nothing out of the norm for a woman to do. As she was slipping back into her heels, Colonel Phillips arrived in his usual style. Military vehicle screeching to a stop in the patchy grass and sandy dirt. Maria spun and saluted him, refusing to greet him with his rank or name as he grumpily released her from the salute and took in the Private still groaning on the ground.

“Agent Reinstein, I take it you are breaking in the new recruits?”

Maria nodded, expecting where this was going.

“I didn’t give you permission to injure the men, Agent,” said Phillips, jerking his head towards Timmons’s vehicle. “Why don’t you situate yourself in the jeep and keep your hands to yourself.”

Maria saluted him again, and stuck her tongue out at him when his back was turned. She gathered her files and pen from Timmons and did as Phillips ordered, aware that she couldn’t defy him in front of his soldiers. It would cause for a headache later, and she couldn’t disrespect him in front of the recruits. They would lose respect for him as a Commanding Officer, and that was something she couldn’t mess with while she was on this army base. She sat in the jeep quietly, smirking when Phillips addressed the groaning Schwartz.

“Get back in line and stand at attention until someone comes and tells you what to do,” the Colonel barked at the man on the ground.

Maria half-listened to Phillips’s speech as she shuffled through the files, making a note under Schwartz’s name as a rejected candidate. Too disrespectful, she had written. Disobeys his superior’s orders. Attitude not fitted to the project. It was easy to see he was not the clear choice. Maybe Utivich? There was still the rest of the afternoon to see if any other recruits stood out. More drills and several miles of jogging time worth of afternoon, to be exact. That was five or more hours. At least she wasn’t expected to jog with them. She got to sit comfortably in the jeep as the recruits ran behind the vehicle.

The drills were boring to watch, same old, same old. Nothing really to observe as the recruits were put through their paces and beyond their limits. Running time was refreshing, though. The air rushing past to cool her off as Timmons sounded off behind the jeep. The officer driving kept glancing over at her, but Maria easily ignored him. The sun was starting its descent down towards the horizon, slowly, but still exquisite in the colors painting the sky. The recruits were sweating profusely behind the jeep, a few panting heavily from the exertion. They were nearing the flagpole marking the halfway point, but the soldiers still had ten more miles to run. These men were going to be dead on their feet by the end of the day. A few would drop out of the program, to be sent to Italy at the end of the week to join the front lines sooner. Just to get away from the extras Colonel Phillips expected his future super-soldiers to withstand.

Maria couldn’t blame them, it did seem a lot of conditioning for a spot in the project. Of course, it wasn’t as much as she had soldiered through when she had undergone conditioning. Before combat training, and all that went into espionage, whatnot and hoo-hah. The nameless woman had drilled Maria past the point of human limitations and further still. It was a necessity, the woman had told her in strongly accented English. The Russian, was what Maria had ended up calling her teacher, but the lessons had been worth the spirit breaking exercises and combat exercises. The recruits would be grateful when this was over.

Evening was creeping up on them, and it seemed there was no end in sight for the recruits, or Maria as she glanced back at the soldiers trying to climb the flag pole.

“First man to bring that flag to me gets a ride back with Agent Reinstein!” bellowed Timmons, enjoying the failures as recruit after recruit slid or fell from the pole. No one got very far, no one save for Utivich. He slid a bolt from the bottom out and watched the entire flag pole fall to the grass. Timmons was flabbergasted, but he couldn’t say anything against it as Utivich handed his Sergeant a folded flag and climbed into the back of the vehicle.

Maria shared a smirk with him before turning forward in her seat as the next ten miles stretched out before them, scribbling notes in the files in her lap before the sun light ran out.

  


 


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

 

_20th June 1943, New York._

“What are you working on?” asked Howard, making her startle as he strolled up next to her and peeked over her shoulder. “Evaluating the soldiers again?”

Maria finished scribbling down her notes on Private Hodge and Private Abrahams, adding the files to the stack on the hood of the military vehicle before acknowledging Howard’s presence. She offered him a smile as they turned and watched Group One in the midst of push-ups as punishment for Private Hodge’s rude comment to Agent Carter, for the second time that day. Two-hundred push ups didn’t seem enough to knock some common sense into the soldier, it appeared. He was too bullheaded and disrespectful to women to be of worth to the project, and she had written as much in her notes. Colonel Phillips would chew her out over it, claim it was a personal vendetta against his first choice, but Maria had Peggy and her father backing her up on this decision. No one wanted to see Hodge injected with the serum. Not even Howard supported Hodge as a choice, and he’d only had the fortune of meeting the soldier once.

The breeze was strong that afternoon, despite the sunshine and heat, the air was cool against her skin. All in all, Maria was willing to admit it had been a very good day. She had all of her notes completed, she’d write up the reports on Group One to drop unceremoniously on Colonel Phillips’s desk in the morning, and Howard had surprisingly shown up, for what reason she was hoping to soon find out. In two days the first soldier would be given her father’s serum, and then everything would change. Yes, it was a very good day. She even felt comfortable talking to Howard. What a momentous occasion.

“I’m finished with the evaluations, actually,” said Maria, glancing over at the astonished look on Howard’s face. “It’s in Abraham and Colonel Phillips’s hands now. They’ll be picking based on my recommendations, possibly tomorrow.”

“She speaks!” gasped Howard, feigning surprise. “I must be dying! Hell has frozen over! The world is ending!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I was just starting to like you,” Maria snorted and smirked, nudging him with her elbow. “I’ll be writing up the reports tonight to give to Phillips in the morning. He’s not going to be pleased with my recommendation regarding Hodge.”

Howard perked at that, “Oooh, and what do you have planned for our darling Hodge?”

“Cut him from the program and send him to the 107th,” deadpanned Maria, quirking an eyebrow playfully. “He’s a bully. There’s no room for bullies in the project.”

“Yes, Erskine mentioned,” nodded Howard, inching a half step closer and taking the stack of files from her to carry. “I actually came from the lab to try my luck.”

“Nice to see you’re so humble,” teased Maria, strolling with Howard back to the main office building. “And here everyone was under the impression you just oozed that brilliance and charm.”

“Oh, you cut me deep, Marie,” said Howard, feigning hurt. “Since I’m accompanying you to Boston, I was going to ask you to dinner tomorrow night, maybe some dancing afterward, but if you’re going to deflate my ego I’m not sure if I desire your company. I might even revoke my offer to drive you, make you take the train.”

She snorted as they entered the office building and headed through the hallways to her tiny office, “Your ego is indestructible, Howard. Don’t feed me lines.”

He laughed, opening the door to her office and letting her enter first. He was still waiting for her to acknowledge the invitation to dinner, she could tell, but she was taking the time to consider his proposal. Howard knew she was returning to London after the experiment on Saturday. This was either his attempt at showing her a good time before she went back to war torn Europe, or his way of putting himself out there for her. Perhaps he was attracted to her? Maria couldn’t fathom how Howard Stark found her an ideal companion for a night on the town, knowing his proclivity towards women who were far more beautiful than Maria. It just didn’t make sense, but then again, he could just be offering her a night of pre-project success celebration. Who knew with Howard.

In the end, as she settled in behind her desk - and the typewriter she had left out from the day before - Maria leaned back in her chair and considered Howard for a moment. He had placed the stack of recruit files on her desk gently, pushing them towards her before taking a seat across from her and leaning back himself. He had a confident little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, almost overshadowed by his mustache. He didn’t fidget, but his fingers were laced with each other and casually resting on his lap. He was waiting, and she couldn’t figure it out, but he almost looked cocky. As if he knew she was going to say yes, but he was patiently waiting for the confirmation. He was a brazen man, that was for sure, but he was also cunning and intelligent enough to know how to play games. She realized he was a lot like her in those aspects, and entirely the opposite when it came to personal interactions and anything remotely intimate. She wasn’t naive, but she wasn’t exactly experienced either. He could probably seduce her in minutes if he put some effort into it, upped the Howard Stark charm.

Then she thought on the offer; dancing, dinner, and perhaps he’d walk her back to her parents apartment. She could only speculate, but she couldn’t deny the idea of dancing was tempting. Maria couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had danced and actually enjoyed it. There had been a few Gestapo officers that had really tried to woo her into bed with their fast steps and talent on the dance floor, but she had internally cringed every time they touched her waist and pulled her closer than necessary. That had been part of her assignment, her job. No pleasure had been derived from interacting with Jew killers. There had been one German officer that had took her by surprise, but she didn’t know what had happened to him, or where he’d gone after their date. She’d given him a kiss goodnight, and hadn’t even bothered to watch him stroll off into the night. He probably woke up in a gutter in the city without a single memory of the night before.

“I guess one night of fun wouldn’t hurt,” conceded Maria, smirking as Howard grinned. She didn’t know what convinced her to accept his offer, but she was almost giddy with excitement over the possibilities. “Just keep your hands above the waist, Mr. Stark. I’m not that kind of girl, and I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Engineer’s honor,” chuckled Howard, holding up a hand as if he were taking an oath. Then he winked, “Just means everything above the waist is fair game.”

“You have a dirty mind, Howard Stark,” replied Maria, laughing with him.

 

* * *

  


_21st June 1943. Boston, Massachusetts._

The drive to Boston had taken almost four hours. If Howard hadn’t told her beforehand how long it would take, she would have slept in to seven that morning. Instead, she had set her little tin alarm clock for three ‘o’clock in the morning and Howard had shown up to collect her at four. She’d packed a bag, knowing she would need to change for her date with Howard that night, before they drove the four hours back to New York. Everything she needed was packed and ready when Howard knocked on the door, and it all fit in the trunk as he pulled into traffic and sped off towards the highway, or freeway, that would take them directly to Massachusetts.

Maria had done her hair and applied the bare essentials of makeup, dressed in her Parisian flower shop best as she sat next to Howard in the front seat of his 1940 Plymouth. The entire drive, Maria had fiddled with a postcard from Sicily; flipping it over and looking at the picture on the front, before turning it over and reading the message again. There was one sentence, and a title for a person her mysteriously unknown commanding officer wanted her to locate. She’d received it in Paris over a month ago, and it hadn’t taken her long to track down the ranking followed by a set of initials. The timing when she received the order to locate the man and determine if he would be a fit for specialized duty had been horrible, but now that she was on U.S. soil, even if she was two days away from shipping back out to England, she had one day to locate, meet and speak to this “SS D.D.” The locating was the easiest, after she found the full name, of course. The man had enlisted already, was waiting to be shipped to Japan, but someone, somewhere, had placed a hold on his paperwork. There wasn’t much she could find, considering whatever the British forces and the States were about to put into motion was still confidential, but she did know she was to locate people when their names were sent directly to her, and she was to observe, evaluate and send a coded report back to the higher ups before they gave her the go ahead to recruit. That was all she knew, and she wasn’t about to start poking around or ask questions.

As the sun started to rise that morning, Maria engaged in small talk with Howard and watched the landscape change as the car flew down scenic routes. At one point, about two hours in, Maria had fallen asleep and slumped over against Howard. Or, she believed that was what happened. She woke up tucked under his arm as he pulled up in front of a diner in Boston. She had sat up straight, smoothed her hair and wiped the drool from the side of her mouth, apologizing quickly for dozing in the middle of one of Howard’s stories. He’d waved it off with a smile and wink before getting out and walking around the car to open her door.

They ate at the diner, a small breakfast each as Maria explained what little she could about the postcard and her nameless C.O. Most things were confidential, but Howard was smart enough to keep his mouth shut regarding whatever she divulged. Part of Maria suspected he was just grateful that she was speaking to him, let alone whispering about the side work the U.S. government and the British Royal Forces had her doing. He even offered to drive her to the barber shop, but she politely declined and told him to find a hotel to take a nap while she completed her orders. Of course, declining Howard Stark proved difficult.  After several minutes of arguing, Maria admitted defeat by allowing Howard to walk with her to the barber shop. Letting him pay for her meal placated him enough to compromise, and with a wink he mentioned the need for a haircut as they left the diner, though Maria saw no evidence of such a thing. He looked well groomed and put together as always. Then it dawned on her as they were strolling through the streets, arm in arm, that he was creating a reason for them to be in the barber shop in the first place. How she hadn’t thought of that first stunned her, but then again she was more focused on the getting to the location, not the cover story for why she would be there in the first place. Apparently, having Howard accompany her was turning out to be a very good thing.

They walked for a while, just one block, but they took their time. They window shopped and chatted about Howard’s life before Stark Industries and the war. Maria even talked about her training with the Russian. He asked about what she’d been doing in Europe and she obliged best she could. She told him about the flower shop in Paris and how she had to study botany before she settled into her cover. And she described the people she had met, the Jews hiding in plain sight she helped in smalls ways, and how strong they had all been - and still were - considering what they had seen and suffered through. She commented on how living in the middle of the war had opened her eyes to how oblivious Americans were to the struggles of the average person overseas. In all honesty, Howard seemed to be accepting of what little she said, because it was quite a lot for her to say out loud. He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say about the politics of war and the games being played behind closed doors. She didn’t explain what she did for the allies, but she thought he might have gotten the gist of it. And the odd thing was that Maria felt so at ease talking to Howard. So much so that she wondered why she never did it before now. It was so easy, and she felt incredibly secure giving tiny tidbits to him that she didn’t even notice that she was willingly offering up facts about herself until they were standing outside the small barber shop.

“What exactly are we doing?” asked Howard, watching the few experts cut hair through the large windows in the front of the shop.

“Observe and report,” she said with a sigh. “Someone is very interested in Sergeant Donovan Donowitz.”

“They must be if they’re sending you.” There was a pause, and then Howard added, “You’re going inside, aren’t you?”

Maria glanced over at him, winking as they both listened in on the conversation that was carrying out to the sidewalk through the open door before she took his arm and they entered the shop together.

“-ya got the goddamn fuckin’ Germans declaring open season on Jews in Europe and I’m supposed to fly to the fuckin’ Philippines and fight a bunch of fuckin’ Japs. Not me pal,” a man was saying loudly as Howard and Maria walked through the open door into the shop. “If we just go in this against the Japs, the whole U.S. of fuckin’ A. can go take a running jump at the moon.”

The head the loud man was trimming spoke up, “You know they got a word for what you’re sayin’, Donny. It’s called treason.”

“Hey, stick your treason up your poop hole,” the man named Donny replied, combing back a section of the head’s hair and snipping it evenly. “If I’m gonna kill my fellow man in the name of liberty, that fellow man will be German.”

Some heads turned as Howard and Maria entered, the bell at the top of the door making a tin-like chime when her elbow jostled the edge of the frame. She blushed and followed Howard to the waiting area, locking gazes with the very loud and very opinionated Donny Donowitz as she took a seat. The man in question was a tall, hulking specimen; built to take more than a few hits and keep on going. He had a massive frame and was entirely muscle, firm and solid and extremely Jewish. He watched the way she followed Howard, the way she moved and the sway of the skirt of her soft blue Parisian dress. His eyes moved down her legs and up to her face, interested and hungry for what he saw, but as soon as he met Howard’s gaze the man returned to the patron in the barber chair.

Maria crossed her legs and listened as conversations resumed, her hands resting gently on her lap as she waited for the customers to clear until it was Howard’s turn in Mr. Donowitz’s chair. From what Maria observed, Staff Sergeant Donovan Donowitz was more than willing to serve his country if it meant he got to kill Nazis, but he was against being sent to fight the Japanese. There was a bitterness to his refusal to ship out to the Philippines and it had nothing to do with who the enemy there was exactly. It was more personal than that from what Maria could tell. She remembered his file word for word, and she had done some digging while evaluating the recruits for Project Rebirth. It was apparent that he didn’t take rejection well, even in an innocent and unrelated way when he was being assigned somewhere other than where he really wanted to go. He didn’t take no for an answer, that was for damn sure. And he didn’t like being told he couldn’t kill a Nazi for the sake of his people.

There was something interesting about him that Maria couldn’t put her finger directly on. All she could really do was sit quietly and watch him work, while Howard attempted to pull her focus away with conversation. It was fine, Maria could multitask like the best of them; compartmentalize and watch several things at once. It was what made her such an asset, the Brits discovered. In chaotic situations, even assimilated for the sake of training, Maria could work calmly and without feeling the pressure. She detached from situations and people, rationalized and logically worked without personal feelings getting in the way. It was what made some of the officials in the SOE were afraid of her. By the way Sergeant Donowitz kept glancing over, she would say he could tell what she was in regards to her training. He could also be making guesses as to why she was here, of all places. Either way, he was very astute and sharp.

When the last client paid in cash and left, Howard stood while Maria remained seated. It was just four people in the shop now; Maria and Howard, Sergeant Donowitz and a man who could only be presumed as Sy Donowitz, Donny’s father. The barbers looked at Howard and Maria, waiting for someone to break the silence. Donny was leaning against a counter, while his father turned away to clean off the combs and scissors. It wasn’t a tense environment, but it was filled with the assumption that Staff Sergeant Donowitz had an idea who she was, knew who Howard was, and was sure he knew why they were here today.

“Anything I can help you with?” asked Sergeant Donowitz, gaze locked onto Maria.

Howard spoke, all friendly with that Stark charm, “Just a haircut-”

“I was talking to the skirt,” said Donowitz, cutting Howard off and wiping the smile of the man’s face in one go. He then nodded towards Maria and fixed her with a stare, “You here to explain why my enlistment papers are in the wind?”

Had to give it to the man, he was tenacious as hell.

Maria leaned back in her seat and smirked, quirking an eyebrow and tapping a finger on the arm of the hardwood chair, “I think you should lock up shop for an early lunch, Mr. Donowitz. Some place more private wouldn’t hurt, either.”

The man looked over to his father and got a nod as his reply. Sergeant Donowitz closed the door and locked it, turning over an “open” sign to say “closed” before heading up a narrow flight of stairs to the second story. Maria stood from the chair with ease, even in heels, and followed suit with Howard, who entered the tiny apartment above the barber shop before her. It was just as small as the shop below, and more crowded with the furniture and bed. There were only two doors, one that led down to the shop and the other to the bathroom. The furniture itself had been picked out and placed by a woman, Maria could tell by the slightly feminine patterns on the sofa and chairs. There were even a few womanly decorative items in the kitchenette, hanging on the walls. The rest of the apartment was covered in Red Sox paraphernalia; flags emblazoned with the baseball team’s logo, a signed jersey framed on the wall (probably a childhood item that held sentimental value), and three old baseballs that had been signed and left sitting in stands on a mantle. It was mismatched and clashed, but it gave Maria a lot more to go on in regards to examining this Sergeant Donowitz. He was a man’s man, a baseball fanatic, and he still hadn’t managed to keep his mother’s idea of decorating out of his own home.

Donowitz offered Maria a drink, showing her to the couch, while Howard was left on the outskirts of the sitting area. It almost made her giggle; how territorial men could be when both were attracted, she guessed, to the same woman. Sergeant Donowitz was more obvious about it, but Howard was more cunning. It would be interesting to see how these two men, so incredibly different, would underhandedly battle it out while thinking she was unaware. It was also disconcerting, considering how plain Maria deemed herself to be compared to the women Howard had previously dined and bedded. And she was certain Sergeant Donowitz had a list of beautiful women that he’d charmed out of their clothes, as well. She didn’t know why they were acting like this, over her, but she was finding it quite amusing, as well as a learning experience. It wasn’t every day that Maria witnessed two men staking their territory over her, even if she was incredibly appalled that they would think she was chattel to argue over. She was her own person, she could take care of and defend herself. It was just very flattering having two very good looking men trying to win her attentions, despite what she believed about her appearance. Donowitz was brutish and ruggedly handsome in an ordinary work-a-day-man way, while Howard was traditionally handsome, well put together and polished. It was the first time in her life that she was enjoying the glances both men stole when they thought she wasn’t looking.

Howard situated himself in a chair angled between the fire grate and the couch, while Sergeant sat next to Maria and relaxed back against the arm of the couch. Howard looked a bit out of sorts, but Donowitz didn’t spare a glance back at his competition. Maria simply sipped the glass of water she’d been offered and tried to hide the smirk pulling at her lips.

“You have a lovely home, Sergeant,” said Maria, breaking the silence as she glanced around the apartment again.

“What’s your name, doll? Who are you?” asked Donowitz, an arm thrown over the back of the sofa and a cocky grin ghosting over his mouth.

Maria smirked, “Agent Marie Reinstein. Shall we begin?”

“I’m all yours for the next hour, sweetheart,” replied Donowitz, confident as all hell.

Maria smirked and chuckled, “I’m sorry to inform you, Sergeant, but this will be more extensive than an hour.”

Howard laughed when the man’s cocky smile fell...

  


* * *

 

 

Dinner had been an amazing experience; the food delectable, the conversation stimulating, and the company was incredibly delightful. Everything seemed fantastical, and nothing like Maria imagined it would be like. She expected stunted conversation; Howard attempting to pry into her past, while she hesitated before giving some vague little bit to placate his curiosity. She had been pleasantly surprised when Howard kept the topics steered more towards politics and the war, the plans Phillips had for Project Rebirth and why Maria was being assigned scouting assignments while she was on leave. He didn’t ask anymore about her past or her Chicago accent, and instead kept the focus on why Boston, why the barber, and who else would she be observing? He was very interested in what the Allies had cooking, what her position overseas was, exactly. And he was also quite forthcoming with any questions she had about his company and what Stark Industries was developing in and out of the war effort.

By the end of dinner, both were ready to give their jaws a rest. The local dance club Howard had selected was lively, packed with people moving about the dance floor and a band that kept the atmosphere fun and happy. She danced close to Howard, laughing at his jokes and coming up with a few quick and witty remarks that made him chuckle. He even talked Maria into a few drinks to loosen her up and calm her nerves about being in a room crowded with people. After several glasses of wine, Maria was relaxed and giggling while Howard twirled her around the dance floor. There might have even been a kiss in the midst of all those warm bodies pressing against each other as the music slowed and the lights dimmed. Inhibitions were non-existent. It was the first time, in a very long time, that Maria was letting go of her ironclad control and enjoying herself. And she never would have thought she would be doing it with Howard Stark.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. It seemed like mere minutes passed and then it was time to drive back to New York. The journey home felt as though it flew by, as if hours hadn’t passed as Maria and Howard reminisced over the interview with Sergeant Donowitz, and how hilarious the barber’s face was when she turned him down repeatedly during the conversation. Even chatting about how lovely a time dinner and dancing had been seemed to speed up the drive. It felt like no time had passed at all when Howard was parking in front of the Erskine home and seeing Maria to the door. For his trouble, she thanked him appreciatively for escorting her to Boston and the wonderful time she had that night. She ended the night with a peck on his cheek, telling him she would see him that morning at the procedure demonstration, and watched Howard drive off into the dimly lit streets of Queens from the living room window at three ‘o’clock in the morning.  

 

* * *

 

 

_22nd June 1943, New York._

_Perhaps I shouldn’t have stayed out so late with Howard_ , she mused, frowning at her reflection in the mirror.

Another frizzy, stubborn curl flopped over her forehead and Maria huffed in frustration. She licked the pads of two fingers and dampened the lock of hair before rolling it back with the rest, pinning it all in a bun at the base of her skull. Howard and she had returned from Boston a long while after midnight, which meant she hadn’t gotten much sleep, or a shower that morning. She wanted to look nice for Abraham’s big day. She had listed three names for the procedure, and Steve Rogers had been at the top of the list. Her father had no qualms arguing with Phillips over who, out of the three chosen, would be first. Rogers underwent the procedure in an hour, and Abraham had left early that morning to make sure the machines were running perfectly. He’d drank for the first time since he and Rose had taken Maria in. He had been so nervous, and so worried over Rogers that Maria had waited until her father had passed out in a chair next to the radio to slide the bottle from his grip. She distinctly remembered him saying something about drinking the rest with Rogers after the procedure, if it was a success.

She was already dressed in her uniform; blouse, skirt, jacket all neatly pressed the night before, while her hat stood crisply starched and straight on her dresser. Minimal makeup had been applied, and with her hair finally pinned, Maria looked at her reflection again. She wasn’t particularly vain, knowing she was plain compared to Agent Carter, but with her hair pinned and a bit of makeup, she could see possibilities. Pity she didn’t feel the need to take such care with her appearance, or the need to catch a man. She could almost see what the German soldiers noticed when she walked here and there along the streets of Paris, or what Howard might have liked when he asked her to dinner last night, completely out of the blue yesterday morning.  

The muffled sound of a door being kicked in caught her attention. Maria whipped her head around towards her bedroom door, listening for a split second in case she was just hearing things. Then she wrenched her bedroom door open and sprinted down the stairs. There were men shouting, her mother had shrieked, and then there was a smack across a face and a yelp that Maria didn’t want to contemplate. She wasn’t thinking at all, really, as she flew down into the living room, only to skid to a stop and raise her hands until they were level with her head. She’d hurried down to make sure her mother was alright, and instead came face-to-face with a firing squad of Hydra agents. They had that look about them, that absolute devotion that not even Hitler could inspire, and just a touch of insanity that only came by being around Johann Schmidt. Maria had come across more Hydra agents scattered across Europe than she would have cared to admit to her father, looking for her to get to him. And now they’d kicked down the fucking front door.

Her mother, Rose, was kneeling on the floor, in the doorway of the kitchen with a gun pressed to the back of her head. Maria had killed people, had watched innocent people die, and had felt only a faint remorse that a life had to be taken, but none of her training or experience so far could help her through this situation. The shock of seeing her mother sobbing, the real concern of death hanging over her head, made Maria so conflicted that she was almost certain she was going into shock. There was the real possibility that Rose would die, and Maria couldn’t fathom life without either or both her parents. The people who saved her from life in Chicago, showed her extraordinary kindness and warmth, and had taken her in and called her their own; she couldn’t imagine losing them.

“ _If you harm a hair on her head, I’ll kill everyone you love before coming after you_ ,” Maria said in German, appealing to their native tongue. Her eyes were wide, hot tears flowing down her face, and she was shaking uncontrollably, but her voice was still somewhat strong, fierce. “ _Let her go!_ ”

“ _I take my orders from my leader_ ,” a man in a suit and glasses spat. Then he ordered her to kneel, and Maria did as she was bid until she could figure out how to get Rose out of this alive. “ _Hands behind your head! No sudden moves_!”

She kept her hands up, moving them behind her head as she looked to Rose. The man was ordering his comrades to do something to Maria, but she wasn’t listening. She was too busy having a silent conversation with her mother. Maria was shaking, because never in her life had she felt such dread and panic, and the realization that these men, even if a promise was made to spare Rose, would negate on their word. Death was imminent, and Maria didn’t want to accept that the look in her mother’s eyes was farewell. She refused to believe that it could happen, that she would be forced to watch it happen. She would figure out a way, she had to. There was no way she was going to let her mother die.

“Close your eyes,” said Maria, voice more of a resolute breath. “And run-”

The sound of a gun firing repeatedly reverberated off the walls, and a pain blossomed in Maria’s chest and torso. Her mother screamed as Maria jerked with each bullet that found its target. Several more rounds were fired until two bullets tore through Maria’s heart and one through her throat. She collapsed to the floor, touching the bleeding holes and wincing at the pain. Even as she gurgled blood, she could feel her body slowly pushing the bullets out of her body, before the flesh could begin knitting back together. With what strength she had left, Maria groped at the floor and pulled herself towards her sobbing mother. She reached for Rose’s hand and struggled to form the words to beg for her mother’s life, but it was to no avail. There was a sense of anticipation among the men. It was coming, Maria could feel it in the air. She wanted to tell Rose how grateful she was for the Erskines saving her from her real parents. She wanted to tell Rose how wonderful she and Abraham had been, and that she loved them more than she thought was capable. She wanted to tell Rose that they had given her hope, but nothing came out except choking, strangled noises.

The man behind Rose glanced at Maria, smirked, and pulled the trigger.

A second gunshot echoed immediately after, pain exploding through Maria’s brain before everything went black and silent...

  


 


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI: This chapter has been beta'd (by myself) and some things were added to it to help with flow and storyline. I had taken the few changes out before first posting, but have decided I was an idiot for cutting out those bits and went through putting them back in. 
> 
> Don't worry, I don't feel it was much. Just enough to add more substance to the story and to the chapter, as well as the characters.

_February 2013, New York._

“There were sirens blaring outside when I came to,” said Maria, voice croaky and distant. “The house had been destroyed. There was blood everywhere; on the walls, on the floor...Furniture had been thrown around and the floorboards were ripped up as if someone had been looking for something. I didn’t...I didn’t remember what had happened...There was an excruciating pain in my head, and my chest was sore, so incredibly sore.”

Absentmindedly, she ghosted fingertips over the places in her chest where her body had pushed the bullets out. The skin was flawless and smooth, no traces of the wounds would ever be found. She could still feel the unnatural twinge of pain as the bullets slowly pushed through the knitting muscles and tissue, and the sound of the metal thudding onto the floor, amidst the blood pooled underneath her. It echoed hauntingly in her mind, the moment it all slowly came back to her, and the horror she experienced when she looked around the den.

“I remember feeling my mother’s hand clutched in mine. She was still warm,” Maria continued, voice haunted by the memory. “There was a ringing in my ears, but I could hear the sirens off in the distance. Mrs. Utivich was outside screaming...Her son was trying to calm her down, but the blood...She kept screaming about there being so much blood.”

The room was silent, so silent that every breath made seemed like rattling trains speeding through the conference room. There was a tension that made every beat of a heart and rise of a chest more dramatic. No one wanted to be the first to speak, even though there was a certainty in each person at the table that everyone had their own personal questions. How could they not? It wasn’t every day that this collection of people were given a glimpse into one of many events happening on the day Steve Rogers became Captain America, in name only. It was the first time Tony Stark had been told an actual truth from his mother’s past. There were emotions involved, ranging from saddened to shocked. And maybe, just maybe, one or two who were attempting to imagine how Maria and her mother felt as they watched each other die. Perhaps even what it was like in that era, Maria knowing she had the abilities to stop it from happening, but unable to openly use them without being taken. The proverbial catch-22.

After several long moments, Maria sighed and checked her phone for the time. An hour had passed and it was only just the beginning of an extremely long tale. There were so many important events to explain and what seemed like hundreds of tidbits to touch upon, and just not enough time to say it all. She had responsibilities outside of her secret life; Noah was needing picked up by a specific time, dinner had to be cooked, and other things she didn’t even want to think about because it would take too much time. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day.

“I remember getting to my feet and...and everything was warm and sticky,” Maria said to Tony, squeezing his hand with gentle fingers. “I remember stumbling from the house and Mrs. Utivich screaming more...Smithson tried to stop me, but...I had to make sure Abraham was safe...I had to make sure Peggy was okay...And Steve...And Howard...”

A small, choked noise erupted from Maria as she remembered the caskets being lowered into the ground. It wasn’t a sob, but there was a sadness in her eyes that seemed distant and haunted. Something that made Tony’s attitude soften just a little. She covered her mouth and forced down the pain those memories had dredged up, aware that she did not look very authoritative or intimidating anymore. It was inevitable, seeing as how this story was an emotional story, but commanding respect had been something she relied on in most situations. And she would be emotionally wrecked for the rest of the day, probably the night, too.

“Mom-”

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” said Maria, clearing her throat and forcing herself to continue through the oncoming storm of sniffles and sobs. She hadn’t reached the many more heartbreakingly emotional parts of her story. She gave his hand another squeeze, “I’m fine. I, uh...Howard sh-- Your father, he...He had heard someone in the lab say that no one was answering at home - at my home...He was running down the street. He had rushed out of the chaos to see for himself...To make sure Rose and I were okay…He had to make sure I was okay...”

“Mom, you don’t have to do this,” said Tony, his voice soft and worried; something rare and miraculous that no one in room had ever witnessed before, save for Maria, but she had raised him. She knew her son, she knew he had a heart. “If it’s too hard...It can wait. I’m sorry for pushing you to do this-”

“No,” repeated Maria, taking an offered tissue from Steve and dabbing her nose. She continued to squeeze Tony’s hand, aware that this was the first time in twenty or so years since she had felt her son’s hand in her own. It was more comforting than anything she could possibly imagine, yet she tried to stop a strangled sob from escaping. “I need to do this. I have been keeping this in for so long...And you deserve to know, Anthony. You deserve to know everything.”

“You don’t have to tell me now,” he said, and she could tell that he meant every word. “We have time. Come on, you’re clearly upset. Let me take you home.”

Maria tensed, just for a moment, but it was obvious to a select few in the room that she was hiding something. And only one person in the room had an idea of what she was hiding, and why she wanted to keep it hidden. Tony noticed, she could tell he noticed. How could he not when he was holding her hand? His eyes narrowed in suspicion as she shook her head and wiped her eyes, aware that she was smearing mascara into her hair, but she hardly cared about that. She composed herself and offered a watery smile in an attempt to placate her son. She could only hope that pushing forward would blindside him and set any talk of home to the side for now.

“It was your father who told me Abraham didn’t make it,” said Maria softly, talking more to Tony than anyone else in the conference room. “And it was your father who held me while I cried...Your father who comforted me that night.”

“Ugh, mom,” Tony made a face, “I don’t need to hear that!”

“Don’t be immature, Anthony,” replied Maria, hiding a smirk. “He just held me. I was still in shock. I’d never cared about people before the Erskines, and I was clueless regarding...Well, making funeral arrangements and signing paperwork to take over the house...I was grieving, and there were so many things to be taken care of, and...Steve was the only person who could stay for the burials...Then I was just so angry. I wanted revenge...I wanted Schmidt’s blood on my hands, and Hydra burning before me. I wanted to destroy the entire Third Reich and every soldier that tried to stand in my way. It was as if something had completely changed in me. There was this hatred that burned through my veins and it was all I could think about. My days were filled with the idea of killing Schmidt and avenging my parents.”

“What did you do?” asked Jane Foster timidly.

“In its purest form, an act of retribution provides symmetry. The rendering of payment for crimes against the innocent, but the danger of retaliation lies in furthering the cycle of violence,” replied Maria. “Still, it’s a risk that must be met when the greater offense is to allow the guilty to go unpunished. I left morals and mercy behind, worked the channels and got reassigned to Italy. Phillips couldn’t control where I went, what I did, or who I took with me. I worked beyond consequences and laws. He had no choice but to allow me into the meetings on strategy and couldn’t say no when I left with the soldiers to attack Hydra camps.” She turned and looked at Steve, “Peggy always pouted. She was never allowed to come with me. Rightly so, I probably would have gotten her killed. I almost got Bucky and Dugan killed...”

“What happened next, Mom?” asked Tony, a mixed look of fear and worry. As if he didn’t know if he truly wanted to know the horrendous acts of which his mother was capable. “There has to be more to the story than revenge. That much hate would eat a person alive.”

Maria nodded, looking around the conference room at every single person captively listening.

“I was captured,” she said, holding her son’s hand a little more tightly. “The Hydra agents that murdered my mother...Schmidt’s eyes and ears...They must have remembered my face, saw me somewhere and reported back to their leader. It was enough to make him interested. I was supposed to be dead. His agents shot me multiple times, sent a bullet straight through my head and watched my brains blow out of my forehead. There was no doubt in my mind that Schmidt would hear whispers that I was alive and want me brought to him, just to see for himself.”

“What did he do to you?” asked Tony.

Maria was silent for a long while, piecing together what she could remember. It happened so long ago, and parts of her memory were still fuzzy from that time, that remembering was sometimes difficult. All she could think to answer with was a breathy, “So many horrible things…”

**  
  
**


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria begins to realize that no amount of biological, genetic gifts can save the mind from the horrors of captivity...

9th October 1943. Krausberg, Austria.

_The trees were beginning to lose their leaves and the air had a faint chill to it, but the day was still quite warm. There was a steady breeze dancing through the woods and the sound of rushing water from the river created a soothing escape from the happenings in the camp. Nothing here but solitude and nature; birds chirping and deer in the distance, obscured by trees and underbrush. There were no superiors shouting orders at soldiers. No reminders of what she was in Italy to do. No appointments or meetings or maps to obsess over. No Colonel Phillips to undermine her, or for her to undermine. No Peggy Carter inquiring as to how she was holding up. No Donny Donowitz craving another mission, another fight, another opportunity for more blood shed. No Howard Stark to send her apologetic looks from across a war room, or a tent, or a base camp._

_This was a place where she could face what troubled her mind. This was a place where she could either admire the beauty and solitude of nature, or grieve in peace. This was her place. This was where she hid from the reality of the world when she could no longer ignore the emotions that threatened to boil over and escape. The feelings that had wormed their way under her skin and made her doubt everything she had ever known about herself. The experiences and sensations that made her uncomfortable in her own body. This place had become her escape from it all. She was free to be herself, free to let go. There were no soldiers here to witness anything she did. She could practice control in peace. She could mourn for her parents without anyone watching, without anyone thinking her weak. She could sit in peace and quietly figure out her next move._

_Tonight, though. Tonight she just wanted to disappear._

_It was dark, cool, and the silence resonated in her bones. Laying on her back, she stared up at the sky, but found it difficult with the tops of the trees obscuring the sky. There was no moon, no light. She had memorized the path she always took and lit the way by allowing flames to erupt from her skin and encase her hand. It had dimmed and flickered out occasionally, but the problem she had started to experience with her abilities was one of many reasons she had sought sanctuary tonight. It had been a while since she had been able to afford to disappear from base to practice control, or just sit and relax; to breathe. Or both._

_Wanting to stare up at a bright moon and twinkling stars, Maria concentrated and raised a hand towards the indiscernible sky and the sparse tree canopy. The environment wavered and morphed into nothing that resembled the vision she had in mind. A luminescent pale blob shimmered into existence, followed by what may or may not be stars. Yet, as soon as the illusion began to sharpen, it broke down and disappeared; it dissolved. She tried again, and again, but nothing more than an almost formed moon and fuzzy stars seemed to happen. In the infuriating failure to conjure an illusion, Maria sat back up and huffed in aggravation. She then attempted to turn a small patch of water to ice, but the tiny pebbles peeking through the surface frosted over, weakly, before the crystallization melted. Then she attempted to turn herself into a human torch, but failed in that endeavor as well. Forcing rocks to explode proved difficult, too. The rocks shuddered at best, and did nothing at worst._

_The more she failed, the more anger she felt. She had no control over her own abilities, something that had always proved to be problematic, but never in this sense. It had always been the opposite; too much force; an overly excessive amount of power unleashing when only a gentle trickle had been necessary. The difficulty had always been reining it in, and now that it was a struggle to get an ability to manifest at all, she was very worried. Yes, she never really used her abilities, save for the occasional illusion to render her invisible. Or the need to keep the cold air around her at a relatively comfortable temperature. Yet the inability to fall back on these gifts the instant her physical skills and training failed...Well, it caused a twisting in her gut and created a panic that coursed through her veins._

_Sitting on the riverbank, Maria allowed the tears to escape and a breath to catch in her chest. She was overwhelmed. It was becoming inexplicably hard for her to be blank and emotionless; a living, breathing lethal weapon for war. She knew how vulnerable she had become, and she knew from where it stemmed. She knew it was from experiencing compassion. She understood it was due to being a part of a loving family; of having parents who cared, who made certain she knew what a mother’s love, a father’s love, could be, would be, should be. She was aware it was namely in part from the people that had gravitated to her, refusing to back away, refusing to leave her alone. She knew that the people around her had left lasting impressions, abilities and wisdoms she would never have acquired if she had remained in Chicago with two abusive, drunk parents. She knew compassion and empathy and love. She had emotions besides anger and fear and numbness. She had feelings for people now, she cared. These were the things that Abraham had feared would be forever lost on his adoptive daughter when he first brought her home to Queens. After everything that had happened to Abraham and Rose during the first World War, and just before they fled to the States, Maria understood that she had saved them as much as they had saved her. All that time and energy, and now she had the emotions that no one thought she would ever experience for herself. And now she could not turn them off, no matter how much she wished and willed herself to do so. All she could do was feel and it was throwing her off her game. She was panicking now, because she couldn’t even create a spark inside herself to create enough light to see, or conjure an illusion to watch the stars. She couldn’t even create an illusion to see her parents one last time._

_Feeling around in the grass and the mud, Maria found a few flat, smooth pebbles. She never had a knack for skipping stones, but it didn’t stop her from going through the motions tonight. It was the act that kept her hands busy, not the precision. It was the sound that distracted her from the fact that she was overwhelmed with grief. It helped her forget the decisions she had made immediately after the shock had dissipated._

_Skip, plunk. Skip, skip, plunk.  Plunk._

_She felt for more pebbles, but gave up as the weight of her panic suffocated her. A strangled cry escaped, stinging her chest as they turned into wracking sobs that echoed in the darkness of the forest. Her entire being ached and her heart hurt. She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging herself as she cried. A twig snapped from a few yards behind her, causing her to jerk and tense. She choked down whatever tears she had yet to shed and cleared her throat. Her shoulders slumped forward and she continued feeling around for flat stones, hoping that if she ignored the person long enough, they would leave. She tried to hide the fact that she was crying by wiping the mucus and tears from her face, hiding the evidence. She had an idea as to who it was that had followed her, but how much they had seen or how long they had been there, she was clueless. There were still tears escaping down her cheeks, but she refused to openly sob in front of another person. Howard had witnessed her breaking down, had seen her cry, and now she couldn’t look at him. His eyes followed her through a room if she happened to be ordered to appear before General Fenech in London. Churchill’s underground war rooms were a mind-boggling maze, but they were also crammed with people. As a fellow consultant, Howard stayed mainly in London to offer insight into the latest Stark technology being manufactured for the war. Maria was only called to London when Fenech required a debriefing or word on any missions that ended in casualties, which tended to follow immediately after every  mission she had ever taken. Of course, lately, Fenech had been asking for her presence to consult with Churchill regarding the weakest points in the Third Reich, something Maria had been keeping an eye and ear out for during her time in Paris. She had a wealth of information from that time to offer to Churchill’s efforts. But backtracking to her original point, when she did appear in the underground war rooms, Howard’s eyes followed her wherever she went; always pitying and full of something else that Maria didn’t want to think about anymore._

_“So, this is where you hide from everyone. Bit dark for my taste, but to each their own.”_

_Peggy sat down in the grass next to Maria and set a lantern down between the two of them. Maria was thankful to Peggy for not pushing her to speak. It was one of many qualities Maria appreciated and admired in the Brit; the understanding of when to push someone and when to let them come around on their own. It was a gift, really. Peggy simply sat there watching the dim light from the lantern twinkle on the ever moving current of the river in perfect harmony and silence. Maria found it uncomfortable to have someone there to watch her sniffle, see the tears staining her face, but decided to get over it, seeing as how Peggy was stubborn enough to refuse to leave._

_They sat there watching the light reflect off the rushing water, neither one attempting to speak. Peggy reached over and took Maria’s hand, and they both grieved in their own ways, in peace..._

A sharp pain through her wrists startled her awake.

It was cold, always so cold. _Freezing_ , actually. The stone floors were always damp and the constant chill seeped into the bones. Moisture pooled here and there in natural curvations in the stone, and the wind sometimes picked up outside, howling hauntingly shrill through the room with the somewhat empty cells. Sometimes groans permeated the solitude of her holding cell, a spacious bit of room situated in the middle of the hall of cages. Sometimes screams echoed through the cracks and reverberated in her ears. Though, mostly the sounds from outside her cage hardly registered. She had solid metal walls curving around her in a circle, bolted into the floor and ceiling with a grated opening looking in on her from above. Chains had been roped and looped several times around several bars of the grate in the ceiling, and now hung in the center of the cell. Connected shackles kept her hands permanently raised above her head. Even though her joints had been screaming for weeks now, she continued to kneel limply with her weight pressing the harsh iron manacles into her wrists. She just didn’t have the will to stand and pace anymore. She spent her time, sleeping or semi-conscious, on her knees as the ghosts of memories filtered through the drug-haze.

This was the second Hydra facility she’d been interned. The first one had mysteriously burned to the ground during an escape attempt. Schmidt’s men had fired a dozen or so tranquilizers at her as she fled. A few made impact, and she’d woken up in another cell, in another facility and under heavier guard. Schmidt had strolled in days later, inquiring as to how she managed to start a fire in her cell. Then he’d beaten her to a bloody pulp, and told the guards to dispose of the body. He’d been intrigued when she gasped for breath and started healing before his eyes, already suspicious after learning of her survival after the assassination of her family.

“I always wondered why Erskine went hunting for a little girl after he fled. How you survived a bullet through the head was a mystery until now. You will prove invaluable to the work Hydra is doing,” he’d mused out loud before ordering the chains, and twice the man power outside her cell at all times.

This was, however, the fourth cell she had been imprisoned inside. Schmidt had been interested when unnatural things happened, where there were no explanations as to how or why - she didn’t even know how it was possible; her abilities had been on the fritz since her parents had died. The only answer Schmidt could surmise was it had to be something to do with Maria, and that had been enough at the time. Bar-cells were ineffective, since she kept escaping through them; though she never made it far. Even with the ability to camouflage herself to the point of almost-invisibility, the one time Maria had managed to make it outside and into woods she had triggered a landmine. She’d spent a few days recovering from those injuries. It was hard stuff re-growing bones. Schmidt had watched the entire process after his soldiers found and brought her back. Apparently he’d been very impressed.

Maria had spat in his smug face when she woke up.

Schmidt came daily when he was in the facility, questioning her about the odd things that seemed to happen inside and around her cells. When she refused to answer, he beat her to within an inch of her life, and ordered his guards to continue punishments in his absence. So, in addition to the IV in her arm keeping her sedated ‘round the clock, she was also beaten once or twice per day. It kept her from being able to do anything, especially escape. She just stayed there, half-hanging limply and without purpose. She could hardly think, let alone speak, and she had no energy to do more than to loll her head about her shoulders when the solid cell door opened those few times during the day. It was a miracle when she managed to manifest enough energy to successfully utilize an ability. It was rare and unreliable, but at times she surprised herself and took the opportunity to try and escape.

Sometimes the guards or Schmidt came in the morning to question her, and sometimes the beatings happened in the evening. It was hard to guess with the guards, and by extension, Schmidt. The only certainty she had was when the door opened at noon. It meant stale bread and water, carried in by one of the prisoners that were still alive and strong enough to walk. She had to give it to Schmidt, he wasn’t stupid. Fool him once, shame on him. Fool him twice, never going to happen. No guards entered her cell to give her sustenance, since she couldn’t be trusted. Prisoners had a hunk of stale bread and a cup of water shoved into their hands before being sent in alone. Maria refused to harm fellow inmates, and she was too drained from healing her daily beatings and too drugged to do anything to anyone. She saved what little energy she had left to fight when she escorted upstairs for Dr. Zola to draw blood samples.

After a month of imprisonment, Maria was beginning to think no one would liberate this facility. She missed Howard Stark, with his sharp quips and witty humor and she remembered the date they’d had the night before everything changed. She turned over the events that followed; the night Howard left with Peggy and Phillips, the funeral, the wistful glances on the rare occasion they were both in the same place at the same time, but never in immediate proximity. She replayed memories and realized that even happy memories seemed depressing in this cage. She missed sitting on the bank of the river near the U.S. base camp with Peggy, and the woman’s ingrained routine for noon tea every single day. She missed the brash personality of Sergeant Donowitz. She even missed Colonel Phillips and his obstinate attitude towards her. She missed her parents most of all; she relived the moment her mother died, over and over again, and the chill of her father’s hand in death as she said goodbye before the coffins were closed and carried towards the graves. There were so many memories to occupy her mind, and all she had was time.   

The cell door swung open and a cuffed prisoner was shoved inside before the door slammed shut behind him. It was always men. Maria was starting to suspect she was the only woman to ever be held prisoner in one of Hydra’s facilities. Lucky her.

There was a moment of difficulty as she tried to lift her head up enough to see the man’s face. When she did, both she and the man froze in place. She couldn’t believe her eyes as her head dropped back down against her chest. The drugs made it extremely difficult to think or move or feel, most of the time. Yet, she was astonished by the presence of her mentor. He was standing in the doorway, and for a moment she believed herself to still be dreaming.  

“Dugan,” she breathed out, unable to lift her head again, but functioning well enough to recognize tears running down her cheeks.

There was a shuffling sound, and then two chained feet came into view as the soldier moved closer. A large, rough hand cupped her chin and lifted her head so she could look up. And she was grateful at the sight that met her eyes. The man looked a little worse for wear, and he seemed conflicted over seeing her in this place and this state, but she grinned sluggishly at the fact that he was alive. If it weren’t for the fact that he was shackled at the ankles and wrists, she would have thought, for just a brief moment, that he’d come to bust her out of this place. She honestly wanted to believe that he was there to break her chains and help her escape. Then her hope disappeared when she remembered he was just as much a prisoner as she was right now. And that actually made her want to weep.

“Holy hell,” he murmured, a bit shocked. “What are they doing to you, kiddo?”

Oh, he must have noticed the IVs sticking out of both arms. Or maybe it was the entire picture of her unwashed hair, dirt covered skin, bloody clothes and drugged out of her mind mental status. She was guessing that months without a bath, plus daily beatings didn’t portray a picture of health. She didn’t have any injuries or bruising, but the damage she had withstood could be seen in her eyes, as hazy and glassy and glazed over as they were. Her cheeks had started to sink in, her complexion a bit grayish, and she was thinner than she had been since childhood; ribs jutting out and hip bones visible under the sag of her tattered trousers. Just because she could heal wounds instantaneously did not mean her body could fix the damaged caused by only eating a chunk of disgusting stale bread and half a cup of water once a day. The wreckage of her physical health was one of starvation. No ability or genetic gift could fix that.

Still, she was really happy to see this man, even if it was difficult to properly display her joy at the fact that he was very much alive.

A loud banging reverberated off the walls of her cell as a guard shouted through the small peep square in the door, “ _Nicht reden! Füttern und raus!_ ”

“I don’t understand anything these Fritzes are saying,” muttered the soldier, kneeling on the ground. He was still holding the small, thin metal plate with a chunk of bread and a small cup of water. He lowered his voice and whispered, “How’re you holding up, kiddo?”

He held the bread against her lips and waited for her to bury her teeth into the hard outer shell, hesitating for a moment before speaking again.

“Not well, from what I hear,” he said quietly, only audible to Maria. “The boys in Cell City like to gossip about you. They whisper in the factory about this scrawny little woman who managed to escape a couple times. Got out into the woods before they caught you. And there’s only one woman I know of that could make that happen.”

“Would have been more impressive...if I didn’t get caught,” she said, unable to keep her eyes open any longer. She was tired, so tired. And out of breath. “You have to feed me and get going or they-they’ll dr...they’ll dra-drag you out and...b-beat you. Just...dunk the bread...in the water, it’s easier.”

He did as she instructed, dunking the bread into the water until it was soft enough to bite into. She took small bites, sucking the water from it before chewing and swallowing. She could feel him watching her as she slowly finished the small chunk, before he tipped the cup of water to her lips and helped her drink the dregs remaining. He kept coaxing her back to reality when she started nodding off, or began an incomprehensible conversation. In the back of her mind, she noticed the realization was donning on Dugan; of how long she had been there, chained like some kind of dangerous animal and dependent on others for something as simple as eating. She was the most heavily guarded prisoner in this facility, not even required to work in the factory. She was being used for something else entirely, the only problem was he probably couldn’t figure out the what and why.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive,” said Dugan, holding her head up by her chin. His face was serious as he stared into her glassy eyes. “Keep holding onto that fire, kiddo. It won’t be long - We’ll get outta here, I promise.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, “I don’t want to know what they...want with me, Dugan… _Please_ , get me out of here...You should go before-”

The door opened loudly and one of the more largely intimidating guards stepped in front of the door to peer in, pointing at Dugan, “ _Sie! Raus hier!_ ”

“ _Sie raus!_ ” Maria spat in retort, breathing heavily as she grew more tired. It was inevitable that she would get beaten for her disrespect, but as long as it removed the guard’s attention from Dugan. She would heal easily, but the soldier would not. “You get out! Go! Fuck off!”

The guard snarled something unintelligible under his breath, leaning into the room to grab Dugan and drag him out. The door slammed shut and Maria was left to yell weakly for Dugan to not be hurt, in solitude, and with only memories and her thoughts to keep her company. Giving up and with a heavy sigh she let her head fall forward and eyes close, slowly drifting off into a drug-induced slumber. Thoughts of Howard and the underground war rooms in London, the U.S. base camps in Italy, of Peggy and Steve and even Donowitz penetrated her mind as sleep overcame her…

****  
  
  



	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Maria receives some time outside of her cell. Unhooked from the IV, she is taken to Dr. Zola’s lab to meet with Schmidt and a close colleague of his. She is stubborn and insubordinate, until Schmidt utilizes a prisoner being held in Dr. Zola’s lab, for purposes that are still unknown. When Maria gives in, the prisoner, Schmidt, and the guards take their leave. She is left alone with the guest, code named The Colonel, as well as Dr. Zola. Strapped to a surgical table, she is tortured via electrocution until she loses control of her abilities and the Colonel witnesses for himself the levels of what she is capable of…
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and/or reviews are always welcome.
> 
> Author’s Note: This was a difficult chapter for me to write. A chapter that has taken weeks upon weeks of consideration and research, as well as digging deep for that personal depth to make it believable and gruesome. And the chapters to follow? They will be just as dark, but with a small light of hope on the horizon.
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter contains nudity, torture, violence, and forms of sexual humiliation as a segue into painful experimentation and torture. If there is any possibility that this chapter could become a trigger for you, the reader, please read the PG-13 summary, so you at least do not feel out of the loop. I would rather not cause anyone with any form of assault trauma to be reminded of an event in their past. 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters of the Marvel-Cinematic Universe, nor the Marvel comics. I am only writing this as a hobby, and no monetary funds are received for this story.

 

12th October 1943. Krausberg, Austria.

Maria had been awake for awhile when the guards had opened the door to her cell early that morning. Dugan had been utilized by the guards the last few days - Schmidt’s orders, no doubt. What he was playing at, Maria couldn’t figure out. She had watched Dugan enter her reinforced cell, had listened to the guards shout instructions in a language he couldn’t possibly understand, and had translated for him, to the best of her ability. She had not been fed for two days, the guards had been sending Dugan in to drag her out so they could beat her senseless. She would regain consciousness in Zola’s lab, unaware of what the creepy little man had been doing to her, only to find him reattaching the IV drip before she was taken back to her cell. Dugan was always there in her peripheral. The guards surrounded him, but never blocked his view of Maria on the table. They used him as leverage, so she would behave. It was easy to figure out that Schmidt saw a weakness and was more than willing to exploit it.

During that specific morning, Dugan had been ordered to only unhook her IV. He had then lifted her up in his arms; so large and firm, safe and strong. It was a comfort, after so much time spent isolated; she had forgotten how soothing human touch could be, and how much a person required the intimacy of it, platonic, familial, or mutual on a personal level. Dugan cradled her gently, as if she were fragile and would easily break. Genetically - physically - he would be wrong; she would not shatter like glass, and if she did, she would reform, remold, rebuild. Emotionally - mentally - he would be right; she was balancing on the edge of a precipice, and a gentle breeze would be strong enough to tilt the scale.

Internally, she was breaking down very slowly. She had lost all control of her abilities, unable to produce anything that could possibly help in an escape attempt. At this point, escape was not an option. She couldn’t walk. She was too weak and too disoriented to do much more than lift her head to see who was entering her cell. Speaking was becoming more and more difficult, as she spent most of her time in resounding silence and the rest of her time screaming from her nightmares. The wealth of happy memories at her disposal had been depleted by now, and the horrible life she had survived before the Erskines had begun monopolizing her dreams. She was becoming hollow and it terrified her more than anything else what this facility could do to her. More than anything else, what Schmidt could order done to her, what he could do to her in person.

As it were, Maria had enjoyed the feel of human touch. Just that moment of being comforted by Dugan, for the brief minutes he had held her intermittently over the last few days.

The ceiling of Dr. Zola’s lab was blurred and hazy, her surroundings somewhat familiar, but forgotten by the time she blinked. She was now three hours without an IV stuck in her arm. Three hours of being secured to a table, while Dugan watched Dr. Zola draw blood and run tests. Maria laid there, docile and placid, while Dr. Zola made notes on her health and whatnot. It was only when a new guard entered, bending to whisper something to Zola that her interest was acquired. And then everything changed in the lab, the atmosphere shifted significantly; the guards were ushering Dugan out, Maria was being unstrapped and dragged off the table, only to be strapped into a chair in the middle of the room.

She was terrified, to say the least, when the special guest strolled in with Schmidt. Struggling in her restraints, Maria attempted to kick out her legs in the hope that she could put distance between herself and Hitler’s fucking bloodhound. This man, who she had spent the better part of a year avoiding in France, had found her at last. He had searched and succeeded, and now she couldn’t escape. Her weak legs barely moved, which meant her chair remained where it had been placed. She was going nowhere, she realized with a panic. Whatever he wanted with her - or from her - there was no escaping it. And that was the most terrifying aspect of this moment. She could not escape.

Johann Schmidt grinned; satisfactorily smug to see her so obviously frightened by something he presented. It was almost gleeful, that grin. The bastard was enjoying the sight of her wide, fearful eyes and uncontrollable tears threatening to spill; the fervor in which she shook her head and the utter terror so blatantly apparent on her face. Despite how weak she was, she was finding the energy to attempt to get away. Schmidt chuckled darkly, and his guest smiled brightly. No matter how tough and how much grit Maria had in her, it was erased at the pleased smile of Schmidt’s colleague.

And then a sudden stirring caught her eyes, drawing her away from the ever approaching Bloodhound. It wasn’t surprising that she had not noticed the tiny cell before now, nor the prisoner chained inside. It was hard to discern the identity through the fading drug haze and tears, but also due to the bruising and swelling in the man’s face, for he most definitely was a man. She was the only female captive here, therefore it had to be a man, but by the build and movement it was quite obvious. He was staring directly at her, although how well he could see was hard to tell. He was squinting, but that could be from the bruised eye and lack of sleep. A prisoner in Dr. Zola’s lab, she was certain the man was allowed much sleep. Yet, they both locked in on the other and the room seemed to tilt into a spin before righting itself once more. It happened in slow motion, and reminded her of a day, years ago, when Abraham Erskine had taken his daughter to Coney Island; an excursion to imprint a shred of wonder and joy upon a sad, heart hardened young girl. His presence felt familiar, yet entirely abstract. Which begged the questions that quantified in her head. Why was he here? How long had he been locked in that cell? What had he done? What quality had he exuded to earn him the reward of - for lack of better term - lab rat? And most importantly, what had Zola been doing to him?

Fingers caress her cheek, causing her to cringe and pull away as best possible. Through blurred vision, it was evident who was touching her; the faux resiliency of his skin a dead giveaway. His colleague and guest kept his distance, hands folded together in front of him. Colleague of Schmidt. She assumed anyone associated with Schmidt would be just as reptilian, but no. Hitler’s bloodhound was jovial, surrounded by an aura of warmth, but there was something about his presence that was extremely unnerving. Schmidt is the known enemy, he is delusion and envy molded as humanoid. Hitler’s bloodhound is shrouded in warmth and joy; he is benevolence personified, and it is terrifying to behold. And the more he stood there, almost bouncing where he stood in apparent glee, the more afraid she became. There was something inherently wrong about him, something powerful and dangerous that made her pray for the first time in her life; she did not want this man to touch her, not even a tap of his finger on her person.

Schmidt looked to his comrade, “Ist das die Mädchen, die Sie gesucht haben?”

The man considered Maria for a moment, most likely trying to find a semblance of a woman under the dirt and soot caked over every inch of her skin, the tangled mass of curls caked with blood. She was entirely indiscernible under months of grime, urine and other things she was ashamed to admit. She flinched under his scrutiny, aware of his eyes studying her as if she were a specimen under a microscope. He looked her over, but replied to Schmidt that he could not tell if Maria was indeed the girl he had been looking for, not under all that filth. It made her blood boil, so searing hot in her veins that the chilly perspiration collecting on the stone floors began to evaporate; steam rising around her as she glared at the man, a challenge.

“It would be wise to cooperate, Agent Reinstein,” said Schmidt, almost conversationally, but with an undertone of something else she could not place. “Although, as stubborn as you have proven to be...I must assume that you will refuse to offer answers to any questions posed.”

Schmidt ordered several guards forward and they surrounded her. A few guards left to fetch water and some soap. The straps securing her to the chair were undone as Schmidt and his friend stepped back to watch her humiliation. She was forced to stand, as difficult as it were at the moment, but she managed all the same. When the guards started grabbing at her clothes, she struggled and fought back; driving their hands away in defiance. She refused to be victimized. She refused to allow them to victimize her.

Schmidt ordered them to stop, and forced them to stand down, away from her. The massive forms in black moved back, and she swayed where she stood; unable to find her sense of balance. Schmidt unbuttoned his immaculate suit jacket, aligned with his many decorations, and folded it methodically before setting it on a bare surface of counter space. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt past the elbow and loosened the tie cinched about the collar before removing that as well. He circled her, waiting for something. He was most likely trying to unnerve her, throw off her understanding of the situation. He had been trying to break her for months, and had been somewhat successful on that front. He had worked slowly, meticulously, and it showed in his patience. He knew he had time, and thus he had not taken the risk of mucking up his plan. There had been no need to rush. He had an idea structured into a timeline; increasing the torment every so often, ever so slowly. Everything he had ordered done to her, everything he himself had done to her, had been leading up to what he planned next. She hadn’t considered how far he would go to break her down, nor what he would do after succeeding. She had been operating under the thought that she would be free soon, but…

The guards returned with an old, metal tub of steaming water. One of the guards followed in with a bar of soap and clean cloth. It was all very disconcerting, especially as Schmidt continued to circle her, like a vulture above a rotting carcass. There was an air of excitement about him, something he usually managed to hide under the mask of indifference and superiority. And then she realized what it must be; he was about to escalate. This was his “next step.”

As the guards set down the tub, Schmidt struck.

The blow to her abdomen was calculated and vicious; maximum pain in one punch. She dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach and biting her tongue to keep from making a sound. The prisoner in the corner cell sprung into action, having spent his time waiting and watching to see what Schmidt would do to Maria. From what she had managed to see, the prisoner had gotten to his feet and pressed himself against the bars in order to see what was going on. He had been watching her, specifically. She had felt his eyes on her, but refused to look over. She had no desire to give Schmidt the added leverage against her. The prisoner continued to shout, continued to clank his shackles against the reinforced iron bars of his cell. She ignored him, just as everyone around her ignored him. If he were smart, he would shut the hell up and blend into the wall.

There were fingers in her hair, tangling in the matted tendrils and pulling against her scalp painfully. She was pulled backwards and thrown into the tub. The scalding hot water seared her flesh, but her cries fell on deaf ears. The water flooded her lungs, burning them from the inside-out. She choked and sputtered, fighting and flailing as Schmidt held her under. Pain blossomed through her legs as the brim of the tub sliced into her calves; fresh blood mingling with the long-standing, hardened fluids of her hair that had begun lifting. These were the moments for which Schmidt had been lying in wait; the moments when she was too weak and compromised to wholly fight back, when it was clearly possible she could die and not come back. This was how a person was broken, slowly and effectively.

Her lungs burned, but when she was dragged to the surface, she sputtered and inhaled as much air as possible. The sensation was of ice spreading through her chest, the air freezing to her blistered skin. It was a short reprieve, she was certain of it as Schmidt lathered a cloth with soap and molded his spongy fingers around her throat. He squeezed until she couldn’t breathe, and then scrubbed at her face until it was beyond raw, beyond painful. It was excruciating, to say the least, but there was something in the back of her mind that chimed in to say that this was not pain; this was a glimpse of what was to come.  

Maria was shoved back into the scorching water without notice, and she fought again, despite how weak she had truly become; a fighter to the end.

As quickly as she was submerged, she was just as quickly dragged out of the tub altogether, in brutal fashion. Thrown at the feet of the Colonel, she gasped for air and trembled from the sudden shock to her system; blistering, searing heat to utter cold in the span of mere seconds. In this state, her body was less than equipped to handle the effects of such treatment. It was crucial to focus on something and cling to it in the hope of slowing her heart rate. She did not want to lose consciousness in the presence of these men, especially the Colonel. She needed to control her body, something that had been difficult to do as of late, but it was crucial. There was no telling how much damage she was dealing with, in relation to her health and physiology. If her organs began to fail, if her heart arrested, she could not definitively assess if she would survive; if her genetics would regenerate and bring her back. She did not know enough of her own abilities to gamble, and she knew even less about her genetics.

Schmidt’s fingers gripped her soaking wet hair, and with a yank, forced her to look up at his colleague; a better view to see her face, clean and decipherable, recognizable.

The man crouched, rather elegantly for a squat, and looked past her glare to search the windows to her soul. He must have found what he was looking for, because his eyes began to wander. Those blue eyes were unsettling as they traced the bone structure of her face, the line of her throat, the dip of her clavicle; the overall emaciation and ghostly gray hue of her skin, the blue tainting her once pink lips. It was like he was burning the image to his memory, searing it deep to prevent it from fading. And then the Colonel raised a hand, extending his index finger and beginning the descent to touch her nose.  

Schmidt’s grip in her hair tightened as she fought to scurry backwards out of reach; going so far as to spit in the man’s face for shock value. It made his hand retreat, which had been her immediate concern. What she had not considered was the insult to Schmidt, or the laugh from the Colonel at her bravado.

The fingers in her hair released, but a fist connected with her face. Schmidt must have been restraining himself in front of company. That had to be it, because he usually did not stop at one punch. He stopped when he was finished, and that was usually when she was dead. There must be something both men were looking forward to seeing, to keep his temper in check. The prisoner in the cell was still screaming, still shouting the repetitive sentence, “Get your hands off her!” The guards were still lining the far wall near the entrance, blocking off the escape route. Maria was being dragged to her feet by Schmidt and shoved against the surgical table, the steel one that was freezing cold and ominously monochrome. The Colonel and Schmidt watched her lay down, while Dr. Zola strapped her securely to the table.

The doctor pressed small electrodes to her temples and chest; little metal buttons connected to white wires that stuck to her skin. The sensation of thrumming electricity in those little metal pieces tingling against her skin, a warning to what was to come. A shudder of fear ran through her, unaided by the nudity of her person and the chilling air upon her skin. It was from the reality of what could happen versus what would happen; what she hoped would come to pass compared to what would actually be done. Maria focused on her breathing, on regulating her heart rate and clearing her mind. If she started considering what Schmidt had in mind with all of these electrodes and machines, she felt she might go insane. It was distract her from what she should be doing, which was relaxing and turning her mind into blank slate. It was more difficult to get information from her if she compartmentalized and managed to forget everything Schmidt would find instrumental to the work Hydra was doing, or had on the horizon.

“I assume you are acquainted with my colleague, Agent Reinstein?” asked Schmidt under the ruse of cordiality. “He has been tracking you for quite some time, I hear, but you always managed to escape.”

The man took a step forward, offering a nod in greeting; grinning like the Cheshire cat at his success. How many times had he come close to finding her in Paris? How many times had she felt his presence nearby? How many times had she seen him through the front windows, standing across the street, waiting? Those moments had been unnerving, but he had never smiled then. And she would lock the doors and flip the sign telling customers that instead of being open, that the shop was closed for the day. She would slip out the back and disappear from sight; hiding close by to see what this man would do. She always assumed he would bring reinforcements, force his way into her shop and trash the place to find a hiding place upstairs, but nothing was ever done. He would sigh in disappointment, as if he had been mistaken, and leave. A few weeks later, he would return and the ritual would happen all over again.

She couldn’t slip out the back this time. She was well and truly trapped, and his pleasure at the sight was obvious. She didn’t like this feeling; this helplessness, the experience of being at the mercy of others. And there was the man in the cell to think of, his well-being, because Schmidt had never been deterred to use innocent prisoners as leverage to make her behave.

Schmidt stroked a finger down her cheek again, chuckling as she strained her neck to keep her face away from his touch, glaring at him. Schmidt frowned, displeased with her less than hospitable attitude. He grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at his guest.

“Hey!” yelled the man in the cell. “HEY! Get your hands off her!”

She was forced to look at Schmidt’s colleague, but she was listening to the prisoner rough the cell door to pull Schmidt’s attention away from her. Idiot, was all she could think. Maria was able to take care of herself, she was managing the situation as best she could without his help. He needed to stay out of this, for his sake, because whatever beating the guards or Schmidt dealt out, she could survive it, the prisoner would be lucky to live through the night. She didn’t want the prisoner to be harmed, or killed due to her stubbornness and his obscure, chivalrous desire to see her spared. Under these circumstances, being a gentleman was less than ideal.

“Be polite, Marie,” snarled Schmidt. “Show a modicum of respect, and I may leave that prisoner unharmed. I am aware of how you put yourself between your guards and the prisoners. Such a bleeding heart for innocents...Guard!”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!” shouted the prisoner, thrashing against the cell door in an attempt to break it open. “YOU’RE HURTING HER!”

Maria watched out of the corner of her eye as one guard stepped forward from the back wall and crossed the lab to the prison cell. Schmidt tightened his grip on her jaw, forcing her to look at the jovial man with the unnerving grin; even going so far as to block her peripheral vision of the prison cell. She could hear keys jangling and clanking together, tumblers clicking into place through the shouts of the prisoner, and then the distinctive sound of a fist connecting to a jaw. The prisoner had grunted, and then there was a thud as the body fell to the floor. She heard the guard dragging the prisoner out of the cell and the commencing of a beating. Fist connecting with flesh, the grunts of pain, the attempts to block and fight back; she could hear it, but she couldn’t see it, which made it far more worse to her. One, two, three punches-

She tensed, nails scraping against the steel of the table, while a strangled noise permeated the silence she had been keeping. It was enough for Schmidt’s colleague, apparently, who ordered the guard to stand down. She despised herself for reacting, for caring about an innocent life, but she couldn’t help to remember what her father had taught her; to see an innocent life as her own. He used to tell her how special each life was, and that she should consider what she would want done for her. It was hindersome in this line of work, but she could not manage to tune out that voice, her conscience.

Dr. Zola was finishing with the little, sticky electrodes; placing them across her forehead and chest, and down her arms. The pulse of energy at her temples was off-putting, and the eyes on her wasn’t very comforting either. At least there were no IVs in her arms. She could feel Schmidt’s eyes watching every move of withering muscle under flesh, the flicker of something fluid, ghostly and metallic that seemed to intrigue him. The same could be said for the Colonel, but he was preoccupied with the rise of her chest and the moisture building at the corners of her eyes.

“Put the prisoner back in his cell,” ordered Schmidt, refusing to take his eyes off of Maria. He watched her while she watched the Colonel, and then Schmidt addressed his colleague, “I believe it is time to proceed, and I have details to iron. I will leave you to it, Colonel. Dr. Zola will assist you. I will speak with you later over dinner.”

With that, Schmidt was gone. The guards followed him out, blocking off the exit with their backs turned. She was technically alone with the Colonel and Dr. Zola, and she couldn’t stop the tremble running through her at the notion. She stared at the ceiling as she felt the Colonel’s fingers hovering over the pronounced visual of her hip bone, the exaggerated curve inward of her waist, the ribs showing under tight, thin skin of her torso through her wet blouse. Those fingers continued to hover up the side of her small breast and the line of her neck, the outer curve of her ear, before he retracted his hand and offered what she could only imagine to be a comforting smile. To Maria, it was anything but comforting. It was creepy and chilling. It caused a twisting in her stomach and wave of nausea to take hold. It made her sick to her stomach to even consider what thoughts hid behind that mask of warmth and benevolence.

The Colonel began a dialogue in a germanic dialect, but with an Austrian tongue. She refused to look at him, choosing to watch his movement from the peripheral as she continued to stare at the ceiling. He was telling her a story, of how he had been searching for her for quite a long time, that he was curious as to how far her gifts reached, that he had a plan for her. It was all very informative without offering any real information. The Colonel had a way with storytelling that was flamboyantly unnerving, his overly cheerful, polite demeanor something she assumed was not normal attitude during an interrogation. He positively bounced with excitement.

The one thing she took from his excessively uninformative speech shocked her to the core.

He wanted to see what she could do, what she was capable of. And in order to do that, Dr. Zola would, in the most basic of terms, torture her until she lost control. The damage she could do would devastate this entire floor of the facility. She kept looking over towards the corner cell, overwhelmed with fear at the thought of accidentally killing an innocent man. Yes, she could possibly kill Dr. Zola, the Colonel and the guards standing outside the open door, but her mind was set that they were the enemy; if she killed them, it would be for the good of the world. If she killed that prisoner, she would never forgive herself.

The Colonel showed mercy, ordering the prisoner be removed immediately and the door to the lab closed. She watched, fearful and tearful, as the prisoner was dragged out, unconscious and bleeding. When he was gone, and the door shut, Maria relaxed and took a deep breath before returning her gaze to the ceiling. She refused to speak to these men. Even if she wanted to, it would come out as a strangled sound, because she still could not force herself to speak in the company of people she did not particularly like, nor trust. And she did not trust anyone affiliated with Hydra.

“Let us begin, Dr. Zola,” said the Colonel, enthusiastic in his command. “A gradual increase over time to test the threshold.”

Dr. Zola nodded, twisting a knob on a machine and gripping a small lever. The short, odd man looked to Maria, apologetically - almost sympathetically - before lowering the lever. The electricity surged through the electrodes, traveling through her body at a low frequency. Her jaw clenched and her body tensed; back arching off the table as her two-man audience watched in fascination. She refused to make a sound, refused to give the Colonel the satisfaction.

She closed her eyes and clung to happy memories, anything to get her through this new brand of torture. Maria thought of Coney Island all those years ago, and the night she spent dancing with Howard. She thought of every family dinner with the Erskines, and their happiness that seemed to affect and infect her so greatly; the best influence an adolescent could possibly hope for. She clung to the memories of what it was like to be loved and to love in return, the joy of it all, because that was all she had left; memories. She had to focus on something other than the pain.

The Colonel ordered for an increase and Dr. Zola obeyed; turning the knob a fraction to the left. More electricity coursed through at a gradual rate, causing her body to begin twisting against the restraints. She made constricted noises through her teeth, eyes still clenched tight as her limbs began contorting. It was just a little pain, she told herself. It was just a tiny bit of pain, and she continued to focus on happy memories; whatever she could remember to distract her from it.

Another increase, and her brain was burning from the current surging through it. Her heart felt as though it would explode from overexertion. She was starting to question how much longer she would last.

The Colonel ordered one more increase, triple the power, which maxed out the amount of current the machine could create. Maria’s joints screamed under the strain as her body tensed beyond its limits, contorting and twisting in ways the human body was not meant to bend. She was flexible, but not to this extreme. Her eyes dilated and she screamed, guttural and continuously loud. She screamed as her joints stretched and pulled out of place. She screamed through raw vocal chords, aware of the searing pain in her lungs with intermittent breaths. She screamed until she had no energy left, and still she screamed.

Maria’s control broke completely, in a way that she had never experienced before that moment. Something in her snapped, a clean break. The windows exploded inward and outward. The glass tubes and cylinders levitated, thrumming with some form of energy before combusting as well; stopping in mid-air and staying there. The steel table started to frost over, ice creeping down to the floor before melting. Her body burst into flames, heating the steel underneath her until it glowed luminous and orange; the clothes she wore turned to ash, the flesh of her back cooked and burned and she screamed even more loudly, more animalistic and guttural. The lab shimmered and morphed into different environments, scenes from the past six months. She could not control what the Colonel and Dr. Zola saw, mostly due to the fact that she was so blinded by pain that she did not realize the memories flashing through her mind were being projected outward. Her mother’s death, the funeral of her parents, one-on-one combat training with Sergeant Donowitz, the isolation of her cell. They were fully formed memories in her mind, but at least her audience was only able to witness glimpses.

The flames encompassing her body grew larger, brighter; from orange to blue, from blue to white. The table she lay upon melting from the heat, and the pain as the molten metal seared the bones of her back only caused her screaming to turn into something else entirely. It was a high-pitched, elongated shriek that never stopped. The pain was incomprehensible, unadulterated torture; something no one should ever be forced to endure.

The image of Howard resting his head on the pillow next to her and stroking hair out of her face was the last thing she remembered as her eyes rolled up into her head and she convulsed until her heart gave out.

 

_To be continued…_

 

 


End file.
